


Bite Me (Terms And Conditions Apply)

by Morraine



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF Stiles, Bad Friend Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Bite Negotiations, Canon-Typical Violence, Coming of Age, Complex relationships, Derek is a Failwolf, F/M, Family Feels, Good Alpha Peter Hale, M/M, Magical Business, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Pack Bonding, Pack Negotiations, Peter is a Little Shit, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Stiles Stilinski Needs a Hug, Stiles Stilinski is a Little Shit, Stiles Stilinski-centric, Stiles lets everybody have it, eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:34:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 73
Words: 248,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23910904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morraine/pseuds/Morraine
Summary: What if Stiles had accepted Peter's offer to bite him, after all? What if there'd been actual negotiations? How would that impact the story?
Relationships: Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski, Erica Reyes & Stiles Stilinski, Heather & Stiles Stilinski, Heather/Stiles Stilinski, Isaac Lahey & Stiles Stilinski, Peter Hale & Stiles Stilinski, Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski & Jackson Whittemore, Vernon Boyd & Stiles Stilinski, Vernon Boyd/Erica Reyes
Comments: 2584
Kudos: 5549
Collections: My favorite stories, Read Again They Were Good (clayrin), Steter collection, Teen Wolf, centrado en Stiles Stilinski





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there, I'm trash and I know it. I should be writing Dobby's Deceit, or literally any other unfinished story, and I will, but this just grabbed me out of nowhere and demanded to be written RIGHT NOW, so I did. I have no idea when it'll be finished, or even if, but I don't expect this story to become overly long. At least I'll try to keep the word count low, which I can't say about all of my work. 
> 
> EDIT (01/2021): I'm a lying liar who lies. This f*ck*ng story had been injected with super soldier serum and hit by gamma radiation, as evidenced by the behemoth you now see before you. No idea when it'll end; at this point I'm not even trying to guesstimate. I only know one thing: this story WILL end one day. Probably. 
> 
> I know that some people have problems reading Steter stories because of the age difference, and yes, Stiles is very firmly underage at the beginning. There won't be underage shenanigans for those two, if that's a concern, because as usual I'm a freak and simply can't write smeksy stuff that isn't at least halfway kosher. 
> 
> This is unbeta'd as hell, so if you're afraid of typos and other disgusting stuff, back away now. 
> 
> To those who're brave enough to proceed: have fun! :)

**Bite Me (Terms And Conditions Apply)**

**  
****Part 1**

  
  
_What if Stiles had accepted Peter's offer to bite him, after all? What if there'd been actual negotiations? How would that impact the story?_

  
oOo

  
"Give me your keys." 

  
Stiles sighed in defeat but took the car keys from his pocket. "Careful, she grinds in second." 

Peter snatched the keys, closed his fingers around them and made a quick fist. When he opened it again, all the keys were mangled - useless. Almost nicely, Peter then let Stiles have them back and turned to get in his (the dead nurse's) car.

With a bravado he couldn't explain having, Stiles demanded, "So you're not gonna kill me?" Of course it made Peter halt, and Stiles stepped back from the unamused werewolf as he turned. "Oh god." 

  
For a second, Peter stared at him. With astounding patience he then said, "Don't you understand yet? I'm not the bad guy here." 

  
"You turn into a giant monster with red eyes and fangs, and you're not the bad guy here?" Stiles asked, incredulous. His heart was hammering in his chest, but he just couldn't stop himself. 

  
Peter looked at him, looked him _over_ , before stating, "I like you, Stiles. Since you've helped me, I'll give you something in return. Do you want the bite?"

  
Stiles couldn't believe his ears. Air was stalling in his throat and he needed a moment to wheeze out a pathetic, "What?" 

  
"Do you want the bite?" Peter repeated, speaking very clearly. "If it doesn't kill you - and it could - you'll become like us." 

  
"Like you," Stiles echoed, dumbly. 

  
"Yes, a werewolf. Would you like me to draw you a picture?" Peter was engaged now, all of his attention on Stiles. "That first night in the woods, I took Scott because I needed a new pack. It could've easily been you. You'd be every bit as powerful as him. No more standing by his side, watching him become stronger, and quicker, more popular, watching him get the girl. You'd be equals. Maybe more." An intense look came over his face and he almost gently took Stiles' right wrist, raising it to his mouth in anticipation of his answer. "Yes or no?" 

  
Stiles swallowed, emotions warring so fiercely inside that he needed the scrape of Peter's fang against his wrist to jolt him out of his stupor. With a sharp yank, he took his arm back, heartbeat now truly racing. "I don't wanna be like you." 

  
Peter's affable expression soured as he straightened up again. "Do you know what I heard just then? Your heart beating slightly faster over the words "I don't want". You may believe that you're telling me the truth, but you're lying to yourself. Goodbye, Stiles." 

  
Stiles couldn't help it, he twitched towards the man as he made to get into the car. "Wait." 

  
Peter stopped, going very still. 

  
Sweat was beading on Stiles' upper lip and he shuffled awkwardly. "Look, I-" 

  
"Yes?" Peter turned around again, his stare now even more intense than before. 

  
"I don't wanna be like you," Stiles burst out. "A bloodthirsty _murderer_ , okay. But being a werewolf? That'd probably be amazing, crazy hunters notwithstanding." 

  
"You wouldn't be _like me_ ," Peter said slowly, dangerously. "You'd be your own wolf. Obviously." 

  
"I know that, okay?" Stiles took a step back from the slowly advancing werewolf. "But you'd be my alpha. I know what you can do. You can call Scott to heel and you'd probably be able to order him to do atrocious things if you ever got hold of him. So, thanks but no thanks to _that_. If it's just about needing cannon fodder, I'm really, really not interested."

  
"Hmm, I see." Peter took another step forward, head tilted consideringly. "What _could_ interest you enough to accept the bite?" 

  
"The bite from _you_ , you mean," Stiles snarked. 

  
"The bite from me," Peter agreed. "If quick healing, amazing reflexes, seemingly unlimited strength, and acute senses aren't enough to tempt you, what is?" 

  
"First of all, knowledge," Stiles huffed, like it should've been obvious. "Scott and Derek aside, I know nothing about real live werewolves. How do packs work? What do you do when there's no bloody vendetta turning everything to shit? Also, what about my dad? I'd have a real problem if you used him as leverage against me. That's not gonna fly, you know. Same with my friends." 

  
Peter seemed delighted instead of annoyed. "All very good questions, Stiles. I think we should enter into Bite Negotiations." 

Stiles' mouth dropped open. " _Bite Negotiations_." 

"Yes, it's quite the proper thing to do." Peter smirked at Stiles' bitch face, clearly not bothered that he'd bitten Scott without consent. "I was a lawyer before Kate Argent killed my family, did you know that? It'd only be between us, but I'd feel honour bound to adhere to any agreement we reach." 

  
"I ... really?" 

  
Peter smiled sharply. "As long as you'd do the same." 

  
"Can I ..." Stiles flushed, suddenly feeling rather small and uncomfortable. "Can I think about it?" 

  
"I'm afraid not," Peter replied. "You do recall that your friend is missing, and that a psychotic hunter is on the loose, targeting my remaining family and that same dumb friend of yours?" 

  
"... right." Stiles rubbed his forehead in a bid to stave off the coming headache. "What are we gonna do now?" 

  
Peter stepped up to him, close enough for Stiles to be able to smell the supple leather of his coat and his disturbingly attractive cologne. "How about a ceasefire for the moment? If you decide in the next five minutes that you do not want my bite after all, you'll simply stay out of my way. If you decide that you want it ... I'm not above accepting your help to ensure that I make it out of that confrontation alive." 

  
Stiles was stunned. "My help?" 

  
"You're far more clever than that idiot boy I bit first," Peter admitted with an aggrieved sigh. "I could use someone with a level head by my side. Do you accept?" 

  
"I ... yes. Okay, ceasefire." Stiles warily offered his hand - the same hand that had nearly been mauled - for a shake. "If I do decide to help, you won't kill my friends. All of them, not just Scott. Deal?" 

  
Peter sighed again. "Fine. I'll do my best. If they come close to ending me, all bets are off, though." 

  
Despite everything, Stiles couldn't fault him for that. He shook Peter's warm, dry hand again. "Okay. Agreed." 

For a moment they stared at each other, something strange passing between them. Then, somewhere, a car door slammed closed, making Stiles nearly jump out of his skin. Suddenly he remembered that there was the body of a dead nurse in the trunk of the car next to him, and that he'd just parleyed with a murdering werewolf. 

"Oh my god," he whispered, feeling a panic creeping up on him. 

"Easy now, Stiles," Peter said. "The circumstances aren't ideal, I'll be the first to admit that, but we'll work it out. We'll work _everything_ out. You have my word." 

"I ..." Stiles gulped in several deep breaths of air. "Okay. Okay." 

"I have to go now, dear Kate is probably getting impatient," Peter continued. "If you do want to help, hop in. If not, go home. I'll find you when it's all over." 

"You're so sure you're gonna come out on top?" Stiles asked. 

"I'll be fighting two _pups_ and a deranged hunter. Of the three, Kate Argent is the real threat, and I don't intend to play around with that one," Peter replied. He smirked. "It warms the cockles of my charred heart to know that you're already worried about your investment." 

"Wha ... what investment?" Stiles spluttered even as he winced at Peter's words. "There is no investment. Not yet! I'm in the contemplation phase! Because this? This is super high risk, man!"

Peter swayed forward and sniffed loudly. "Mmh, I'll say." 

"Oookay, time-out, I've had about enough of the bad touch, dude!" 

Peter had the audacity to laugh. "Go home, Stiles. I'll see you later." 

"Wha-" Stiles twitched after Peter again, but this time the man got in the car, slammed the door and started the motor. "Hey!" 

  
"Go home, Stiles," Peter called, speeding off. 

  
Stunned, Stiles stared after the vanishing tail lights. 

  
"Fuck!" 

  
oOo

  
It had to be fate that Jackson wanted to find Scott, Stiles decided. And that Jackson was even willing to lend his Porsche to the cause. Chris Argent's audacious appearance was not enough to stop him, but when they finally arrived at the Hale house, things were already going majorly south. 

  
Like, Stiles' investment was one second away from going full on rampage - and probably getting himself killed while at it. 

  
There were molotov cocktails in the car, but after learning what Peter had already suffered, Stiles couldn't, couldn't, _couldn't_ bring himself to use them. Instead, he grabbed his phone, turned on the MP3 player as loud as it would go, and threw it as hard as he could at Peter. 

  
The werewolf jumped when the phone hit him in the snout, the music blaring loudly in the dark clearing. Confused, he shook his head even as he broke the phone with a stomp of his paw. 

  
"Run, you idiot!" Stiles yelled. "Or do you want to die!" 

  
The grotesque creature roared and Scott was screaming out his betrayal. 

  
Jackson got out of the car, eyes wide, whole body trembling. "What is _that_!" 

  
" _Peter_!" Stiles grabbed the next thing he could reach, which _was_ a molotov cocktail. With no fire at hand, it was relatively harmless, but to be safe he threw it against the side of the house, smashing the bottle. The stink of chemicals made the huge beast roar again. " _Run_!" 

  
Allison raised her bow. "Stiles! If you've got another, throw it now!" 

  
"As if," Stiles muttered. He got back into the car and leaned all of his weight onto the horn. 

The shrill sound finally seemed to do the trick: Peter shook his massive head, roared again and ran off, lightning fast. In a mere second, his black bulk had vanished between the trees. 

  
" _Stiles_!" Allison and Scott screamed. 

  
"What?" Stiles demanded. "You wanna murder someone, you do it yourselves, you assholes!" 

  
"We tried!" Scott shouted. His chest heaved. "You ruined everything, Stiles! Killing him would've been my cure!" 

  
"Your what?" Stiles was incredulous. "Who the hell told you that?" It didn't take long to find the culprit; Derek was looking aside and hunching his broad shoulders. "Oh my god, seriously?" 

  
Scott gaped at them both. "What? Derek said that's how it works!"

"Yes, and he didn't have an ulterior motive, like, getting help _staying alive_ ," Stiles retorted dryly. "Grow the fuck up, Scott!" 

  
"Stiles, what you just did-" Chris Argent began. 

  
"No," Stiles snapped. "You don't get to say anything about this. At all!" He got away from the car and rounded on the hunter who actually took a couple steps back. "You tried to kill Scott! You tried to kill Derek, and you treated me like shit not an hour ago. And _you_!" He glared at Allison. "What the hell are you doing, shooting arrows willy-nilly! Are you crazy?! You could've hurt someone!" 

  
"She shot me," Derek said into the uncomfortable silence. "Twice." 

  
"Oh my god, you what?!" Stiles cried. "Allison!" He raked his hands through his all too short hair. "You're all ... I don't have words for what you are." 

  
"Stiles-" Scott tried. 

  
"No." Stiles took his hands down and glared at them all. "I'm so done with all of that shit. I'm done with you mooning after Allison, Scott, and what the fuck were you thinking, making her name your user name _and_ password?" 

"Really, Scott?" Allison whispered. "That's ... sweet." 

"No, it's fucking not!" Stiles shouted before her father could. "As for _you_ , Allison, if that's who you really are, I don't wanna hang out anymore. Your fucking _aunt_ burned down the Hale house - with _actual_ people in it! - and you tried to kill _actual_ people just because she told you to! You tried to kill Scott, for fuck's sake!" 

  
"There was proof that they are monsters," Allison tried to defend herself. "And ... and I was in shock." 

  
"So?" Stiles flailed his arms wildly. "I'm in shock practically every freaking day! Do you see me going about and killing people because if it? Hell to the no! I do not, even when people fucking deserve it!" 

  
"Small mercies," Chris muttered. 

  
"Oooh, don't get me started, Mister. I'll report you to the sheriff, who, incidentally, is also my dad. I'm _done_ with you people slamming me against walls, or into things, or threatening my life," Stiles continued. "You can _all_ stay away from me until I decide I feel better about you fuckers." 

  
"Stiles-" Scott protested. 

  
"Shut the fuck up, Scott," Stiles snapped. "I'm going home. You coming, Jackson?" 

  
"I ..." Jackson stared at Stiles like he were some sort of apparition. "Yeah. Let's go back." 

  
For a second, Stiles debated letting Jackson drive his own car now, but then he decided that he deserved something nice for the shit show this night had turned out to be. He'd even drive gently, because for once Jackson hadn't been a douche about things, and he was all about rewarding good behaviour. 

  
  
**End of part 1**


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right now it goes *really* well, but no promises on the update front.

**Part 2**

  
  
There was a man sitting on his desk chair. 

  
"Hoooh my gawd," Stiles shrieked, nearly knocking himself out with the door to his room he'd just opened to enter. 

  
The man, who turned out to be none other than Peter Hale, smirked. "Hello, Stiles." 

  
"What are you doing here?" Stiles hissed, rushing inside and shutting the door behind him, even though the sheriff wasn't home. 

  
"You saved me," Peter said simply. "From the hunters, from your friends, and even from myself. I thought saying thank you in person was the least of what I owe you."

  
"Yeah, well, you're welcome," Stiles muttered, flushing uncomfortably. "But you could've called." 

"I really couldn't have," Peter tutted. "You see, all of our actions have consequences, and this is the consequence of your actions last week." 

"No good deed goes unpunished," Stiles huffed. Cautiously he set his backpack down and sidled up to the bed. "Uhm." 

"You needn't fear that I'll attack you," Peter said, calm as can be. "In your own home, no less. I'd never be so crass." 

"That's good to know." Fidgeting, Stiles sat down. "So what's the deal?" 

"How good of you to ask!" Peter said brightly and Stiles had to stop himself from rolling his eyes at the sass. "Of course you remember my intention of entering into Bite Negotations with you." 

"I probably won't be able to forget, ever," Stiles mumbled. 

"Since our ceasefire worked out so very well, and your defence of my person was practically a declaration of intent to go through with it," Peter continued smoothly, "I took the time to get things ready so the negotiations can begin." 

  
"Wait," Stiles said, heartbeat picking up. "That's decent, I guess, but I could've changed my mind in the meantime. A week has passed. That's practically a month in teenage time reckoning."

" _Have_ you changed your mind?" Peter asked, clearly amused. 

"... no. Not really. But I could've." 

"Fair enough," Peter allowed. "In the interest of saving time, however, I propose that we stop any further waffling and get things done. I'm a busy alpha, after all." 

"Are you now?" Stiles couldn't hide the sarcasm. 

With no one to murder at the moment and being in his - more or less - right mind, Peter was obviously enjoying the repartee. "Actually, I am. There's the matter of returning to civillian life, of course, and that wayward nephew of mine won't tame himself, now will he? The dumb pup is still living in the ruins of the house, if you can believe it, so it falls to me to get his sorry existence back on a track we can both stomach." 

"So you're gonna house hunting?" Stiles asked, intrigued despite himself. 

"We need a den," Peter said. "Preferably not out in the preserve, where help would be slow in coming, if it came at all. I was thinking of a house downtown. That way, dear Derek would have room to brood, and I'd have all the opportunity to monitor him." 

"Not to be crass, but how will you pay for it?" Stiles asked. 

"My family was well off," Peter said simply. "And there'll be life insurance money." 

"Oh god. Right. I'm sorry." 

"Don't be. Since we're negotiating, it's your right to know what you're getting into." Peter pointed at a folder that was lying neatly on Stiles' desk. "Everything financial, as well as the most important points regarding a beta's rights and duties, is in there. I recommend you read this carefully, and make notes about the things you want to change or add." He stood. "Take your time. When you're ready, contact me." 

  
"How?" Stiles sighed. "My phone kicked the bucket." _Thanks to me throwing it at your head, and you stomping on it._

  
"You'll find a way," Peter said airily. And because he was a huge douchebag, he smugly slipped out of the window, leaving Stiles gaping after him. 

  
Stiles needed a moment to collect himself, but then his curiosity got the best of him and he scrambled to his desk and flipped open the folder. 

  
A sleek iPhone greeted him and Stiles reared back in shock. He'd never possessed something so valuable and it it was hard to compute the fact that a murderous alpha werewolf had just given it to him.

"Okay," he mumbled, heart rabbiting in his chest. "That's one problem taken care of. Only one million more to go ..." 

Cautiously, Stiles flipped the first page of the collection, praying that his father never, ever, found this thing and read the girlishly formatted words 'Bite Negotiation between Peter Hale and Stiles Stilinski, 2011'. 

Peter was _such_ an asshole. 

oOo

  
Peter may be an asshole, but he was a _thorough_ asshole.

  
After spending the whole afternoon speed reading the information the man had put together for him, Stiles decided that he could work with a guy who used bullet points and sticky notes to make his life easier. 

  
Probably. 

  
Stiles shook his head and then rubbed his blurry eyes. "I must be crazy. Seriously, completely crazy. Why am I even doing this to myself?" He huffed. "I mean, honestly, clothing allowance? Obedience training? Mandatory togetherness?" 

  
"Hey, Stiles," his father said while entering the room without knocking. 

  
With a shriek, Stiles jumped violently, accidentally swiping the folder to the floor, inner side down. "Oh my god, dad!" 

  
The sheriff only barely managed to suppress a smirk. "Sorry. I just wanted to ask what's for dinner. You said you'd take care of it, but here you are, absorbed in ... whatever it is that's caught your attention now. Does that mean we can order in?" 

  
"No, it doesn't," Stiles protested immediately. "No way, no how. Out, out, I'll start right away, and there'll be extra zucchini for even suggesting such blasphemy!" 

"Nooo, not zucchini," his dad moaned exaggeratedly. "However will I survive this torment?" 

oOo

  
The following two weeks were some of the longest and most unpleasant of Stiles' life. Lydia was home from the hospital by now even if she hadn't returned to school yet, but she wasn't the same girl she'd been before Peter had bitten her. Stiles, a little traumatized by her listless answers to his daily phone calls, felt the loss of her sarcastic snark keenly. 

  
He also wasn't talking to Scott and Allison - mostly because Scott wasn't talking to him. Instead, he was _clandestinely_ meeting with Allison during break time, sucking face with her and forgetting that the world around them even existed. 

  
Stiles honestly couldn't stomach it, preferring to sit by himself at lunch and noodle over the things Peter had offered. 

  
"Yo, Stilinski," Jackson greeted, throwing his bag onto the bench and sitting down across from Stiles. "How's it going? McCall still ignoring you?" 

  
"Yep," Stiles answered without looking up. "How you doing? Still clamoring for someone to juice you up?" 

  
Jackson scoffed. "Do I look stupid to you? I overheard McCall talking about nearly getting ganked by Allison's dad for touching his precious daughter. If that's what's waiting for me in this godforsaken backwater town, I'm not interested anymore. I'm good enough at lacrosse without his powers." 

  
"That's good to know, and yes, you are," Stiles said, finally looking up. "How's Lydia?" 

  
"Still crazed," Jackson huffed. "But she's getting better." 

  
"You're not gonna leave her over this, are you?" Stiles asked, frowning at the petulant tone. "You always said no before, but you don't _sound_ like it. Cards on the table, man. It's gone on long enough." 

  
Jackson pressed his lips together. "Fine." Stiles' stare made him fidget uncomfortably. "Look, I know that it's not her fault she got attacked by that monster. But I'm not ... it's not my _deal_ , you know?" 

  
"What's not?" Stiles demanded. "Being a decent human being? Offering support to your girlfriend when she needs it?" 

  
Jackson scowled. "Yeah." 

  
"Oh my god, really?" Stiles threw down his pencil. "Why the hell not?" 

  
"I'm sixteen," Jackson burst out. "Fucking sixteen, and I'm not ready to be _that_ , with someone else. I can't."

  
Stiles was flummoxed. "What. Are you serious."

Jackson rubbed his face with his hand. "I am. That makes me an asshole, I know, but ... I just can't. I can't sit with her, when she's like this. Vacant, like she's stoned or something." 

"You thought Scott was taking drugs!" Stiles exclaimed. "And you thought that was just peachy!"

  
"I know! But that wasn't ... real, you know?" Jackson looked away, at the parked cars at the other end of the grounds. "This, with Lydia, is real. And I realized that I can't deal with it. Like, at all. If the alpha bite ruined her, it'd probably ruin me, too, and I'm not gonna take that bet." 

"It can kill," Stiles agreed, remembering all too well Peter's words in the garage. "There's no guarantee." 

"I know that now. Lyds survived, somehow, but it's not gonna turn her eventually, is it? Things won't just be okay again. And ... I don't want this." Jackson's tone was final. "I'm sorry. I am, Stiles. But it's over, so don't ask me about her again. Okay?" 

Stiles was speechless. "You ... Jackson, you need therapy. For real," he hastened to say when Jackson's anguished expression hardened. "All the therapy. As a matter of fact, I do, too, because what went down in the preserve? That was so not cool, I can't even. I've got nightmares, of me hitting the alpha with the molotov, and Allison setting him on fire." He gagged a little. "Can you imagine?" 

"I really don't want to," Jackson said, relaxing a little. "Let's never do that again, Stilinski." He took up his bag and left without another word. 

  
Without thinking about it, Stiles flipped over his new phone, opened the messenger, and typed, _Let's never give the bite to Jackson Whittemore, he's a complete douche._

  
_Duly noted_ , came the reply. 

  
Stiles chewed on his lower lip. It still surprised him when Peter answered his little texts, quickly even, most of the time, and even seemed to take him seriously. 

  
With a sigh, he put the phone down again and got back to his reading. With more time now to dedicate to his school work, he was dead set on raising his GPA to back what it had been pre-alpha rampage. Scott might not care about any of this, but Stiles found that _he_ cared quite a lot, and for the first time in months, his dad was proud of him again. 

oOo

  
Their third official meeting took place in a diner two towns over. Peter told Stiles to order whatever greasy breakfast foods he wanted after they'd settled in the most private booth and unashamedly did the same when the teen was done. 

  
"You look ... different," Stiles noted once they were alone, taking in the shorter, styled hair, soft purple V-neck shirt, and dark brown leather jacket the man was wearing. "Got caught up with the times? Grew out of the super villain phase?" 

  
"Hm, no, I wouldn't say I grew out of it. I merely ... evolved," Peter replied with a little smirk. "My little earlier killing spree aside, I'm quite a fan of understated displays of power, you see, but where would've been the fun in that when trying to punish homicidal serial killers for their wrongdoing?" 

  
"Speaking of which," Stiles said quietly, "are you done with that now?" 

  
"That depends." Peter scuffed his blunt nails on his shirt. "Is your father still following up on the arson?" 

  
"Of course he is, but man, let me tell you, Allison's bitch of a mom's putting up a stink about it. And apparently her creepy grandfather decided to attend Kate's funeral." 

  
"Gerard Argent?" Peter asked, going still. 

  
"Is that his name? He looks like some sort of vulture," Stiles mumbled. "That guy's got a murder vibe not even you can match, and I'm not saying that lightly. The whole family is crazy cakes, if you ask me." 

  
A smile crept slowly onto Peter's face. "I knew that you'd see them for what they are eventually. It hasn't even taken you all that long; your instincts are extraordinary." 

  
"Well, they're hardly trying to hide their crazy," Stiles replied, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his gut. "Will you kill him?"

  
Two waitresses appeared with their food, joking about the amount and ogling Peter, who was lapping up the attention with a charming smile. There was even free coffee and soda, a first for Stiles.

  
Once they were alone again, Peter seamlessly picked up their conversation and said, "I probably will," shrugging when Stiles gaped at him. "He's not a good man, Stiles. Remind me to tell you why sometime."

"You bet I will." Stiles sighed. "I probably won't ever get over how blasé you're about all of this ... murdering business."

"I'd tell you that it required some work, but that would be a lie. Being burned alive does that to a person, but let's not dwell on that when there are far more amusing things to think about." 

"Such as?" Stiles asked suspiciously. 

"You reporting dear Chris to your father, for one," Peter said, beginning to neatly eat his sweet potato fries with a fork and a knife, the freak. 

  
"That restraining order really helps me sleep at night," Stiles huffed and dug into his scrambled eggs, sinking feeling of doom successfully shoved aside. "I don't know why people never think about the surveillance cameras in hospitals. Or that enterprising people might hack into them for copies. Mr. Argent can be glad that I've got no interest in blackmailing him, because some of the weapons he packs? They're sweet." 

  
"I do enjoy your quick thinking," Peter praised. He reached for the bacon, smirking when Stiles eyed it covetuously. "I'll have to look into acquiring firearms for the pack, even if I dislike them, personally. And who knows, the Argents might hand-deliver the next opportunity sooner than we expect." 

  
"I seriously hope not. Uh, can I ask why you're eschewing firearms when they're effective?" Stiles reached out with his fork and snagged three strips of bacon from the platter, ignoring Peter's almost indulgent look. "Is it personal, or some kind of limitation? Because that'd suck."

  
"Well, the noise they make is enough to rupture a werewolf's ear drums," Peter admitted. "But more than that, we're physical creatures. A kill won't ever really satisfy us if it hasn't been achieved by our own claws and fangs." He shrugs elegantly. "It is what it is. Why do you think I did the whole song and dance with following Kate Argent around, when I could've just gone to the next Walmart, got a gun and ammo, put a few bullet holes in the bitch, and every one else who was complicit in my family's murder, and be done with it?" 

  
Stiles paused mid-chew. "I did ask myself that, dude. But is the urge for personal satisfaction really that strong? Because I gotta tell you, you could've avoided a shitload of trouble if you'd gone that route." 

  
"Don't I know it. How anyone can still believe in animal attacks in this town will forever remain a mystery to me." Peter assessed Stiles for a moment. "But yes, to me, it was worth it. I got to put my claws into dear Kate's throat, and tell you what: when that farce of a funeral is over and the hunters have slowed their watch, I'll go back and rip her head clean off her corpse and toss it somewhere it'll never be found. It's best not to leave anything to chance when it comes to dead enemies; you never know what has the ability to come back. Consider that your first lesson in supernatural dealings." 

  
"Urgh, I so did not need to know that," Stiles complained. "That stuff's not in the duty-section of your 'little' pamphlete, and I gotta tell you that I'm not particularly up to body disposal of the human kind." 

  
"Understandable," Peter replied, unconcerned. He reached for the sugar and cream packets and proceeded to dump the contents of several of each into his coffee cup. "I take it that body disposal of the supernatural kind wouldn't be as much of a problem?" 

  
"I'm not a huge fan of gore or anything, but if it's a supernatural asshole, I'm probably a lot less squeamish." Stiles scrunched up his face. "How is this my life?" 

  
"You asked for it, sweetheart," Peter taunted smugly. "Nevertheless, it's not my intention to rope you into this kind of work. I have a feeling that your talents lie elsewhere." 

  
"Oh?" 

  
Peter's smug smirk widened, showing off a hint of fang. "Why don't we talk about the duties that you'll absolutely have to fulfill, first?" 

  
"Cooking and cleaning, both aren't really my strong suits," Stiles muttered, flushing a little. "I mean, I cook, and I like to do it for my dad, but other than that? Nah. You've seen my room." 

  
Peter chuckled. "Oh, I certainly did. Once you're a member of my pack, you'll most likely spend quite a bit of time at the pack house. It's only fair that every member pitches in to run the household," he said. "The same goes for using up ressources like food, soap, clothing et cetera. It's not asking too much to want you to pitch in, once you're able. The money's going into the house account for its upkeep." 

  
"I can't believe that there'll be audits and stuff!" Stiles exclaimed, flailing a little. "Who does that?" 

  
"I do that," Peter said. "Because I want my betas to feel taken seriously. While I have money, it's not my intention to let anyone freeload if they're able to get a job and largely take care of themselves. Sitting idle is a terrible idea for my kind." 

  
"For people in general, I suppose," Stiles admitted, even if it somewhat galled him to be brought around to Peter's point of view with _logic_ , of all things. 

  
"Sharing in the pack's responsibilities will give each member a sense of their worth," Peter went on. "Providing for the family is a strong urge in my kind anyway, so I don't anticipate too many problems on that front, but _you_ might stay human for a while yet, so it's a concern. Additionally, regular audits of the pack account will show the members where their money's going, and that the alpha is not spending it all on frivolous bullshit." 

  
"Like?" Stiles asked, munching on a deliciously crispy hash brown. 

  
"Like a yacht in the Carribean," Peter said. "Or overpriced rubbish from the home shopping channel." 

"I sense a story or five." Stiles mumbled around his food, a smirk tugging on his lips. "Do tell." 

"Maybe later. Fact is that pack living means sharing household chores. You may not like it, but it's not negotiable. If we're going to be family, we'll act like one." 

"You'll do chores, too?" Stiles asked, eyes narrowing. 

"As needed," Peter replied. "Don't get me wrong, I might do less than everyone else due to the work unique to my position and a lack of pack members right now, but I'm not above it, I assure you. A clean den can hardly be valued too much." 

Stiles thought of all the nights during which he'd cleaned up the house and had taken away the empty bottles after his father's drinking binges, and sighed in defeat. At least he wouldn't be suffering alone in this ... eventually. 

"Fine, I'll help out," he conceded, "though I hope you won't confiscate my pocket money just yet." 

"Of course not, you're still going to school," Peter tutted. "And speaking of which, I noticed the new books on my last patrol run. Your desk is overflowing; I hope you're sleeping enough." 

  
"Yeah, I'm just a quick reader. I'm catching up at school, now that everything's calmed down again. I, uh, I'm trying to push my GPA as far as I can and maybe finish High School a bit sooner." Stiles looked down to his plate, suddenly awkward. "I mean, it'll make things a bit easier with the ... transition, and I'd maybe have some time figuring out how to do the college thing." Raising his eyes back up, he knew that he probably looked a little desperate, but he didn't care. "I want to do the college thing. I'm smart and it'd be a waste not to." 

Peter let him stew for a moment as he sipped his coffee. "Of course it would be a waste," he finally said, and Stiles slumped a little in relief. "In fact, not going to college when you're clearly suited for it is not an option. I do have something to say about your atrocious choice of after school activity, though." He tilted his head and curled his lip. "Lacrosse, really?" 

  
"What's wrong with lacrosse?" Stiles demanded. 

  
"Everything," Peter volleyed back. "For one, you hardly get to play, and while the training is keeping you in reasonable shape, it's lacking in variety." He slurped down his sirupy coffee and leaned forward, stealing a piece of bacon from Stiles' plate, even though there was a whole platter waiting right in front of him. "No, what I have in mind for you is far more useful. I want you to learn the most vicious form of self-defence available, and also learn how to shoot a weapon competently. You don't have to follow my advice, of course, since I'm not your alpha yet, but you might want to consider it anyway." 

  
Stiles watched his bacon go, mouth dropped open in surprise. "What? Really?" 

  
"You're human, of course I want you to be able to defend yourself. This city will hardly get less dangerous, now that I'm back," Peter said. "Has your father taught you anything yet?" 

"A little self-defence, and I can shoot several handweapons okay." Stiles cleared his throat. "You do know that this'll make me more dangerous to you as well." 

Peter's smile was sharp. "What's life without a bit of spice, Stiles? Besides, I don't plan on failing these negotiations. Whatever you need, I'll do my best to provide." 

Put like that, Stiles almost didn't hate himself for feeling a warm little tingle in his stomach at the care the werewolf was showing. It really had been a long time since his own family had done the same.

  
"Eat up, Stiles. I think we've negotiated enough for today," Peter interrupted his complicated thoughts. He pushed the plate with the bacon towards the teen but stole his untouched coffee on the move back. 

  
Stiles found that he didn't mind, especially when Peter encouraged him to ramble about whatever came up naturally, and when it was time to part ways an hour later, he even barely flinched when Peter rubbed the palm of his hand over his shoulders and arm in a weird caress. 

  
  
**End of part 2**


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another one because it's still going well, and it's long, compared to the other chapters. Also talky, but what the hell, I do this for fun. I'll fix mistakes as I find them later. Cheers!

**Part 3**

  
  
"Why are you meeting my uncle?" Derek asked as Stiles trudged up to his room after yet another lonely and awkward school day. 

"Holy fucking crap!" Stiles shouted, reflexively throwing his backpack at the glowering werewolf. "Can't you lot call ahead?! Jesus fucking Christ!" 

"No," Derek bit out, roughly setting the pack down. "You need to stop, Stiles. He's dangerous." 

"Yeah, I know that," Stiles shot back. "Was that all? Then shoo, I've got things to do." 

"That wasn't all," Derek persisted. He stepped closer, nostrils blowing as he inhaled Stiles' scent. "You don't know what you're doing. You should stay away from all of it before you get really hurt. Wasn't it enough yet?" 

Stiles sighed and sat down on his bed. "Of course it was. And dude, you can believe me when I say that your uncle's got a few screws loose. But ..." 

"But?" Derek asked, raising one eyebrow and crossing his impressively muscled arms in front of his chest. 

"But it's a bit late, now," Stiles finished in a tone that sounded rather final even to his own ears. "Look, what I've learned cannot be unlearned, yeah? And you kinda know me by now, I'm too curious by half to just go back to ignoring all of that strange stuff. Also, some of it might even be good for me." 

"Good for you," Derek repeated flatly. 

"Yes, actually good for me." Stiles pursed his lips, wondering how much he should say. With no immediate inclination presenting itself, he pulled his phone from his pant pocket and typed out a short message to Peter. As usual, the answer came quickly, and of course it was the one Stiles probably wouldn't have chosen. "I'll explain, but you have to promise not to rip out my throat." 

"What has he done," Derek demanded to know. "Is he blackmailing you?" 

"What, no." Stiles snorted. He pointed at the large binder on his desk. "Look at that." 

Suspicion screaming from his every pore, Derek gave up his aggressive stance and took up the binder, flipping it open with more force than necessary. His eyes widened in panic after seeing the very first page. "Stiles, no." 

"Derek, yes," Stiles returned. "He offered the bite, I refused, but then we sort of agreed on a negotiation, so that's what's happening right now. You don't have to like it, but it's none of your business since I don't think you're in Peter's pack. Kay? Kay." 

"It's _not_ okay. You have to stop," Derek said imploringly, staring at the teen. "Stiles, he's ... Peter's not right in the head. He'll use and abuse you. This," he shook the folder like a drowned rat, "is nothing more than a game to him."

"If it's a long con, he's really into it." 

Derek sat heavily on the desk chair, all growly intensity gone. "You have no idea." 

"I think I do, actually. I was there for most of it, remember?" 

Derek looked like he really wished he didn't. 

"But I know more now than I did a month ago. He was badly hurt in that fire, but he's getting better." Stiles shoved his sweaty hands under his thighs so he wouldn't flail about like an idiot. "I really think he's trying." 

"But to what end," Derek murmured. Almost defeated, he paged through the assembled pages of information, stopping here and there to read the notes Stiles had made. 

"I get that you're wondering, but if you're questioning his endgame ... what's _yours_?" Stiles challenged when the silence became too much. 

"Mine?" Derek looked up, confused. 

"Yeah, what do you want to do with your werewolf life, now that your family is avenged? What kind of job do you want to get? Where do you see yourself living? Do you want a family?" Stiles asked, jerking his shoulders a little.

"I ..." Derek swallowed. "I don't know." 

"Okay, fair. You're young, likely left college when Laura came here ..." Stiles paused at the hurt and grief that twisted Derek's unfairly attractive features. "I'm sorry, but listen, okay. That's _you_. You have no idea what to do with yourself. But Peter? He has a grown-up plan. He wants to get his _life_ back. He's going to establish a new pack house and he's planning how pack living will go. And he's already calculated what he can afford to invest in his pack members." 

"But has he told you what he's planning on _doing_ with that new pack?" Derek asked, sounding broken. "What he's planning on using those wolfed up bodies for?" 

"No, but I can imagine," Stiles said plainly. "This town has become dangerous and Peter said that it's probably not going to get better. Go to page forty-five; the next five pages are all about the agreement to keep the territory free of malicious supernatural invaders. That's been the Hale pack's job, and someone's got to do it." He shrugged. "I'm okay with helping him keep things calm here. It means less potentially fatal work for my dad and everything."

"You know that an agreement between you won't have any standing in court," Derek said quietly. "He could be lying to you because he wants you ... for whatever reason." 

"Hey, I'll have you know that I'm a catch," Stiles protested the dubious statement. "Just because you don't see any worth in me doesn't mean Peter doesn't. And do you know what? He _could've_ bitten me, without asking. He _could've_ forced me into fighting against Kate and Mr. Argent, but he _didn't_. I said no when he asked, and he listened." 

Derek was staring again. "It doesn't make sense." 

"Maybe it does," Stiles said stubbornly. "Maybe he just really, really needed someone to anchor him, which is why he bit the first convenient person, but then he got a lot better. Believe me, he's regretting turning Scott, _a lot_." 

"Something we agree on," Derek sighed. 

"I don't believe that Peter's evil ... even if he's murdered a couple people," Stiles soldiered on. "They were all guilty of aiding and abetting Kate, I double-checked. My dad's got his hand on one crown witness and I couldn't yet find out who it is, but if they're not getting what's coming to them through legal channels, I could probably live with it if Peter's getting involved." 

"You shouldn't think like that, Stiles." 

"Tough," Stiles said bluntly. "First of all, it wouldn't be me doing them in, all I'd be doing would be being okay with it. Besides, _you_ were okay with getting Peter killed and probably with taking the alpha spark for yourself, so you haven't got a leg to stand on, bucko." 

"I know." Derek lowered his gaze to his linked fingers. "I feel bad about ... everything. Every single day. But my uncle-" 

"Your uncle nothing," Stiles said firmly. "It's not my business what's going on between you, _yet_ , but it will be. So, if you'd clear the air before I become a part of that flea circus, I'd be much obliged. I've got enough drama with Scott and Allison's epic, stupid teenage love story, I don't need dysfunctional Hale family feels on top of that." 

"Well, it won't be happening," Derek mumbled. "I did try to get Peter killed ... maybe even kill him myself, and to take the alpha spark. He won't forgive that." 

"Maybe not," Stiles said. He was creeping himself out with how quickly he was taking sides, but then he'd always been like that. Once he'd claimed a person, he had a hard time abandoning them, even if they were douchebags of the first order. "Only one way to find out."

"Yeah, I won't risk losing my head for _that_ ," Derek growled. 

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Fine, then leave town if you think your relationship is done for. But for the love of god, don't squat in that ruin any longer, it's literally killing me to picture you where Kate killed your people _and_ tortured you. That's beyond fucked up, I hope you know that." 

"Maybe I deserve it." Derek snapped his mouth closed like he hadn't meant to say that out loud. 

"Dude ..." Stiles huffed out a breath. "First of all, no. And second of all, _no_." 

"How would you know?" Derek growled out, eyes flickering blue. "You don't know a damn thing about me, about my family." 

"I know enough to know that you're being an idiot. But whatever, if you don't wanna tell me more, that's your right," Stiles retorted, already done with Derek's broodiness. "Don't expect me to believe anything you say over Peter in that case, though. You don't get to demand jack shit without explaining yourself." 

"You're making a huge mistake," Derek said again, getting to his feet. "I hope you'll realize it before it's too late."

"Don't let the window hit you on your way out, Sourwolf," Stiles snarked, supremely fed up with the whole conversation. 

With one last glower, Derek squeezed through the open window and was gone a moment later. 

Frustrated, Stiles took the phone back up and typed, _Your nephew is a huge PIA. Can't you do something about him?_

This time the phone remained silent and with a sigh, Stiles toed off his shoes, picked up the binder Derek had left on the desk, and resigned himself to doing his homework before any more precious time got wasted. 

oOo

"What do you know about Isaac Lahey?" Peter asked, apropos of nothing. 

"What the hell? It's ..." Stiles stared blearily at the alarm clock on his nightstand, phone haphazardly pressed against the side of his head. "Two in the morning." 

"Needs must," Peter said smarmily, and god, Stiles could _see_ his smirk in his mind's eye. "Chop chop, spew your wisdom." 

"There's not much wisdom to be had. He's quiet, a loner." Stiles sighed and rubbed his face with his free hand. "Uh, he might be abused at home. I told dad about some bruises a while back, but nothing came of it." He waited a beat, but Peter wasn't forthcoming. "What's wrong? Did something happen to him?" 

"Mmh. Thank you, Stiles. I'll call again soon." Peter hung up.

Aghast, Stiles stared at the darkening cell phone screen. "Ugh. I _hate_ that guy." 

oOo

Isaac wasn't at school all week, and Stiles would've kept checking for him if another problem hadn't sprouted up halfway though Wednesday. 

Instead of making out with Allison underneath the bleachers, Scott had taken to stalking Stiles through the school. For what purpose, Stiles couldn't guess, but it was annoying and a little frightening to have his erstwhile friend breathing down his neck with that vaguely creepy hunger painted all over his face. 

_It's his 'I'm pondering whether to maim and eat you face'_ , Stiles complained to Peter, fingers flying over the screen of the phone as he typed the message. _I should know, I've seen it often enough by now on ALL of you!_

_You did cheat him out of curing the curse_ , was Peter's dry reply. _At least I assume that's what he's thinking. He doesn't strike me as the clever sort, but he certainly seems to be tenacious._

Stiles stared at the ceiling in Finstock's classroom for a moment, begging for a sign that Peter hadn't just written that. _You think he wants to try again._

_Wouldn't you, in his situation?_ , Peter sent back. 

_Fuck_ , Stiles typed, throat going dry. _You'll be careful?_

_I'm touched by your concern, Stiles. However, it's not me I'm worried about. Scott, brilliant thinker that he is, will be more likely trying to use you to get to me, don't you think?_

Stiles stilled at that, mouth dropping open a little. Hesitantly, he wrote, _I haven't told him anything about our negotiations. In fact, we have barely spoken since that night._

_He could have watched your house and noticed me coming. His hearing is certainly not impaired._

_Shit, you're right. What now?_ , Stiles asked. 

_I wouldn't mind using you as bait to put McCall in his place_ , Peter answered, and wow, Stiles was really feeling the love there, _and the way you describe his behaviour, it might even be our only feasable action._

_But I mind!_ , Stiles shot back. He furtively glanced at Finstock, who was still busy stomping along the blackboard and shouting at Greenberg. _It's no fun being filleted by a rabid werewolf when you're a squishy human!_

_I have no intention of letting Scott McCall come close enough to do harm,_ Peter wrote. _Leave it to me and just try to avoid him for the rest of the day._

Thus ended their conversation and Stiles forced himself to return to Finstock's incoherent shouting. Thankfully there was no lacrosse practice today; he didn't know how he could've avoided that without spinning a mile of yarn and forever ruining what little remained of his high school cred in the process. 

Unfortunately, Scott seemed even more unusually intent on following him around after econ. Stiles saw a glimpse of Allison around the corner, but she was firmly keeping her distance, making Stiles wonder whether she was supporting Scott that way, or if Scott had excluded her from his little spy game. 

Stiles was so tense, all his senses so tuned into Scott, that he nearly ran into a group of students on his way to chemistry. 

"Whoa, sorry, sorry," he said, flailing a little. "Things on my mind and stuff ... what's going on here?" He stared at the pack of boys surrounding a lone girl and prompty straightened up. "Guys?"

"Go away, Stilinski," a senior student sneered, slamming his beefy arm into the locker, clearly trying to block Stiles' view. 

A little sob had Stiles sigh inwardly. Outwardly, he put on his best cocky face and said, "Nah, I don't think so. Whatever you're doing looks like fun! You asking that pretty lady here out on a date? How's it going?" 

"Piss off," another of the boys, a member of the lacrosse team, jeered. In his hand was a little flashlight, going on and off with every squeeze of his clenching fingers.

"Hey, hey, sharing is caring, dude." Stiles craned his neck obnoxiously and gritted his teeth when the girl in trouble turned out to be Erica Reyes, the quietest girl of his year. She looked absolutely terrified, clutching her backpack to her chest and breathing in short, shallow bursts. "Oh, hey Erica! Man, that's quite the selection of studs you have here, you wild thing. Anyone got your favour, or are they still trying to woo you?" 

"I _said_ piss off," the beefy guy ground out. "Right now, Stilinski, or you're next."

"Man, you've got some cojones," Stiles said, crossing his arms and leaning against the lockers. All of the guys' attention, and that of quite a few students passing by, was on him now. Good. With a small twitch of his head, he motioned for Erica to make a break for it - which she did, even ramming her elbow into someone's stomach as she squeezed through. "I don't like playing the 'my dad's the sheriff'-card, but for you I will."

"You little shit," the beefy guy said, clearly pissed that their victim had escaped. "I'll beat you to a bloody pulp."

The cocky grin fell off Stiles' face and he snarled, "What about _my dad_ _is the fucking sheriff_ is so hard to grasp? Do you think I don't know your names? Any of you touch Erica again and _the sheriff_ will know exactly where to look, you get me? You do anything to me or my stuff, he'll know where to look. What's more, he'll find all the evidence he needs. Every. Single. Time."

The four teenagers exchanged suddenly nervous looks, but didn't seem like they wanted to give up just yet. 

"You really wanna try me?" Stiles asked, raising an eyebrow. "I hear juvie's quite charming year round, if you wanna check it out so badly. Coach will be super pleased to have you go on an extended vacation." 

"Fuck you, Stilinski," Connor hissed and all four of them finally booked it. 

Stiles blew out his breath, trying to get the crawly feeling under his skin under control, and went after Erica while the excitedly whispering students all around him were still blocking Scott's pursuit. 

He didn't have to go far; Erica had just fled into the nearest empty classroom and had wedged herself under the teacher's desk. Her sobs were soft but heartrending. 

"Hey," Stiles said as the door fell closed behind him. "Are you alright?" 

Erica sniffled and forced out a, "Yes," that was barely louder than a whisper. A bit louder, she added, "Thank you." 

"Eh, you're welcome. Mind if I sit over here?" Stiles asked. He sat cross-legged on the floor and rummaged in his pack, cheering when he found the mini snickers he'd bought from the vending machine this morning. "Here, have some chocolate. If it helps against dementors, it'll certainly help against highschool bullies." 

He slid the chocolate under the desk and couldn't help smiling when a pale hand carefully took it, the paper crinkling a moment later. 

"So, what did those douchebags want?" he wondered, leaning against the table leg of his table and looking up to the ugly ceiling. "I'm guessing they weren't really trying for a date." 

Erica was quiet for so long that Stiles thought he wouldn't get an answer at all, but then she whispered, "They had a flashlight. They wanted to ... make me seize." Her voice was bitter. "They wanted to film me pee my pants. Again." 

"They what?" Stiles asked, aghast. Suddenly the mini flashlight in one of the guys' hand made terrible sense. "Those fuckers." He listened as Erica munched on the chocolate and slowly calmed down. "Do you want me to report them?" 

Like a scared kitten she finally peeked out from under the desk, dark eyes red-rimmed and desperate. She had a fleck of chocolate on her upper lip. "That'll only make things worse." 

"I don't think so. They tried to _hurt_ you. Your seizures are bad, aren't they?" 

Erica nodded miserably.

"That's assault," Stiles told her. "Not only does it hurt _you_ , getting you to the hospital costs a shitload of money that your parents just shouldn't have to pay. All those in favour of kicking their asses, raise your hands." Erica stared at him like she couldn't quite believe that he was real, so Stiles just shrugged and raised both his hands. 

"No, Stiles ..." she whispered pleadingly. "Please don't. People will hate me."

Stiles didn't want to be cruel to her, he really didn't, but he knew way too much about how intimidated victims suffered for years and years because they never found the courage to strike back. 

"The way I see it," he said calmly, "they already do." 

Erica's breath hitched and she retreated under the desk. "Shut up."

"Why else would they do this to you?" Stiles pressed. "It needs to stop, or you'll never have a good day in school. My days are pretty shitty already, but yours are way worse. I don't know why you'd want them to stay that way." 

"What choice to I have," Erica murmured, stifling her crying somewhat with her knees. 

"It's not great, I know that, but dude, do you really want things to stay the same?" When there was no answer forthcoming, Stiles wheedled, "Look, I'll even go to the nurse with you. I know all the names, and I'll tell my dad to be extra hard on them because it wasn't the first time they did this." 

"Why would you," Erica demanded. "I'm all but invisible to you." 

"Because you're hiding," Stiles said, refusing to feel guilty because it was true. "I'm not the nicest guy around, I get that, but I'm here now. Let's do this. It'll make my day."

"This isn't about you," Erica huffed, but she did raise her head for a little glare. 

"Nope," Stiles agreed easily. He resumed his staring at the ceiling. "But you're hardly going to do it for your own sake, so this is the next best thing. I _would_ feel pretty great about getting them in trouble, though, because I hate that douche Connor. It could be your birthday present to me." 

"It's not your birthday for a month, yet," Erica sniped, but she uncurled and crawled out from under the desk. "You have to hold my hand, or I'll run as soon as someone asks me a question." 

"I can do that." Stiles smiled at her. "Come on, cat girl, show 'em your claws." 

He offered his hand to Erica and helped her to her feet. With one swift glance, he took in her impure skin, dry hair, and baggy clothes. She moved like an old woman and he felt a fierce pang of pity for her plight. 

The bell rang, signalling the start of class. 

"We'll be in so much trouble," Erica breathed as she clumsily shouldered her bag. "Harris is such a dick." 

"He sure is. One more reason to skip, don't you think?" Stiles curled his arm around hers and steered her out of the room. "So, what's the deal with your apparel? Do you like the nineties junky chunky look? And why aren't you doing things to your hair? You've got great hair, you could curl it like Lydia does. Sure, it's a time-suck, but man, every guy would wanna bury his hands in there, me included." 

Erica flushed fiercely. "I tried. But it's too dry, it breaks right off. Uhm, it's the epilepsy meds, you know." 

"Oh." Stiles paused. "So that's what's going on with your skin, then? I thought it was the food your parents pack for you. There are, like, barely any carbs. How's that not a travesty?" 

"My parents are health nuts. I guess my skin would be way worse if I ate the junk they sell here," Erica admitted. "Doesn't mean it's fun." 

"I dunno. What are you eating if it's not waffles or pancakes or burgers in buns? You're still alive and kicking, so it must be doing _something_ right." 

A conversation about food started that lasted until they reached the infirmary, and then Stiles was doing most of the talking, telling the nurse everything he could and asking her to get the sheriff station on the phone. Half an hour later, a female deputy joined them and gently coaxed the whole of Erica's history of suffering out of the girl.

Not once did Stiles take his promised hand away, and it wasn't a hardship at all to agree to meet Erica at lunch the next day when she found the courage to ask him. 

oOo

When he came home that afternoon, there was a wrapped present lying on his desk. Suspicious, Stiles opened the tag. It read:

_Something to help against_

_the hairy tail you seem to_

_have picked up._

_Use it wisely._

Eyebrows nearly going into his hairline, Stiles ripped open the box, revealing a slim old book and a large pouch filled with some kind of powder. The little tag on the pouch proclaimed the contents to be mountain ash. It ran through his fingers like sand in an hourglass, dark and unassuming and yet still somehow meaningful.

"What the _hell_ is that?" Stiles asked into his empty room. 

**End of part 3**


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, how have I already cleared the 10k words mark? o_O

**Part 4**

So, the mountain ash Peter had given him was kind of ... weird. Stiles noticed as he played around with it at night, long after even his dad had come home and gone to bed. The book, which he'd just thumbed through, had claimed the ash to be some sort of deterrent to all sorts of supernatural creatures, but even in the presence of actual werewolves, it was hard to believe that something like this should exist. 

"But apparently believe I must," Stiles muttered and then snickered to himself. So far, he'd only managed to make the flow wobble a little, which was already spooky, but according to the book that stuff should be able to manage so much more. Stiles wanted it to do _all the things_ , dammit! "Do. Or do not. There is no try." 

Sobering, he picked up another pinch of the mountain ash and began to lay a circle so large that he, by all rights, shouldn't be able to close. 

Stiles closed his eyes after the halfway point and muttered, "I close the circle. I close the circle ..." 

He tried to push all of his doubt away, managing to actually kind of empty his mind, and when he opened his eyes again, the circle _was_ closed - and Stiles whooped loudly, shushing himself right after and hoping that he hadn't woken his father.

"This. Is. Incredible!" he whisper-cheered after a few seconds of waiting for an irate sheriff to bang against the wall. "I'm Incrediboy! The Incredible Ash Boy! Ash, The Incredible Boy!" Gasping for air, Stiles stared at the circle, its line far thinner that he could've managed all by his clumsy self. "Magic stuff is _so_ cool!" 

Misappropriating the brush from his kid fingerprint set, he carefully brushed the mountain ash onto a piece of paper and returned it to the pouch. With that unexpected success, all his manic energy had expended itself, and genuine sleepiness tugged at him. Deciding not to look a gift horse in the mouth, Stiles crawled into bed and was out like a light not a second later.

oOo

"Hey, Stiles," a voice said just as Stiles was about to climb into his jeep. 

Since it was early morning and no one from school, except Scott, lived close by, Stiles jumped a little. 

Heart in his throat, he turned around - and was confronted with Isaac Lahey. 

"Dude," he breathed. "What are you doing here? Are you alright?" 

Isaac ducked his head a little. "Yeah, I'm fine now. Uh, Peter sent me." 

Stiles froze. "What." 

"Yeah." 

Turning around fully, Stiles took in the tall, lanky boy. "What happened? He called me a couple nights ago and asked about you. Was he with you?" 

Isaac shrugged slightly. "Yeah, but not the way you think. He was in the area when my dad ..." He huffed. "My dad hit me, okay, and Peter was there. Knocked on our door and everything." His shoulders went even higher, almost up to his ears. "Dad told him to go away, but Peter didn't. He stayed until the cops were there ... I'm surprised your dad didn't tell you." 

Stiles grimaced. "He doesn't actually talk all that much about his work, which, yeah, privacy." 

"Oh." Isaac relaxed a little. "Anyway, I decided to report my dad for ... for abuse, and they kept me in the hospital for a few days to make sure I was okay." 

"Is your dad going to prison?" Stiles asked. He waved Isaac over. "Get in, we might as well drive to school together." 

Isaac didn't even hesitate; he got in on the passenger side and buckled himself in. "Probably. It'll take time, or so the lady at the station said. I'll have to give detailed testimony. There's talk of emancipating me, since I'm already seventeen." 

Stiles started the jeep. "Better than going into the system." 

"I wouldn't," Isaac replied quietly. "Peter visited me in the hospital. Gave me his card and said he'd take care of it." 

Stiles' stomach decided to flip a couple of times and he felt faint for a second. "What for?" 

"You know why," was Isaac's steady reply. "He said I should talk to you first, though, since we might be ... mates soon." 

"Oh my god, I _knew_ it. There'll be talking," Stiles choked out. "All the talking, about all the unpleasant stuff." 

Isaac played with the frayed strap of his rucksack and shrugged again. "Okay. Whenever you've got time." 

"Well, I'm meeting Erica for lunch today ... you know her, epilepsy girl. So that's a no to potentially mind-scarring conversations over lunch, but we could meet after lacrosse training?" 

"Oh!" Isaac perked up. "About that. I'm to tell you that you'd better skip that. Like, simply not going and telling no one beforehand." 

For a second, Stiles wondered whether Peter had told Isaac simply everything already, the boy seemed to be so unruffled. A bit more roughly than was his wont, he started the motor. "Hello no, Finstock will kill me." 

"Scott might kill you worse," Isaac replied, and yep, that one was fully in the know, Stiles decided. "Peter's looked for martial arts classes - we can go together." He looked unsure for a moment. "That is, if you want." 

"I'm not comfortable with Peter just deciding what we're going to do," Stiles huffed as he pulled out of his parking spot, "but I guess I want to face Scott's claws even less." 

"So you're gonna skip?" Isaac asked, cautiously hopeful. 

"Yeah, why not. Sad thing is, Peter's right. Bench warming is boring and without Scott to suffer through it, I might as well throw in the towel." Stiles changed gears and picked up speed. "My dad'll be disappointed, though. He hasn't given up hope of me getting to play, yet." 

Isaac's mouth twisted slightly. "He'll get over it. I wish I'd learned how to defend myself sooner." 

"You think you'd have, against your dad?" Stiles asked, as tactfully as he knew how. 

"Dunno," Isaac admitted, staring at the passing houses and cars. "But I would now, if I had to go back." 

There wasn't much Stiles could say to that, and the rest of the ride passed in silence. 

oOo

"Hey cat girl, look who's decided to tag along," Stiles called out. He plonked down across from Erica, gesturing for Isaac to sit down as well. "Dunno if you know each other, so this is Isaac, Isaac, this lovely lady is Erica." 

"Hey," Isaac greeted quietly. He opened his backpack and pulled out a tupper container. 

"Dude, he didn't," Stiles exclaimed when Isaac revealed a picture perfect arrangement of grilled chicken breast on salad and grilled vegetables. 

"He did," Isaac said with a little smile. 

"Yours looks just like mine," Erica said, grateful for something to talk about. She showed the boys her lunch, which consisted of a chicken leg and baked vegetables. "But you haven't got epilepsy, right?" 

"Nah, the person who made this is just really health conscious," Isaac replied easily, spearing a piece of chicken and popping it into his mouth. 

Stiles flinched a little, just like he always did when Peter's ongoing recovery got mentioned. To lighten his own sinking mood he said, "Wow, now I'm feeling like the odd man out." 

"What you have _is_ rather bad," Erica snickered. "Twizzlers and a mystery meat sloppy joe? Wow." 

"Yeah, yeah, rub it in," Stiles sighed dramatically. He looked around the cafeteria but couldn't spot any troublemakers aside from Jackson, who was raising his eyebrows at him. "How was your day so far? Bearable?"

Erica smiled. "Yes, surprisingly. That guy from the lacrosse team looked like his parents tore him a new one. Thanks, Stiles." 

"I told you it'd be worth it," Stiles replied and grinned. 

"What happened?" Isaac asked, and off Stiles went, telling him about yesterday's adventure. 

"I dunno how much exercise you can do," Stiles finished, "but maybe knowing a few good self-defence techniques would help against dumb people, cat girl." 

"You just don't want to suffer alone," Isaac said dryly. 

"Neither do you," Stiles shot back, flicking a crumb of his sloppy joe bun at Isaac, who flicked a bit of salad back. 

Erica giggled at their antics, clapping her hands over her mouth to hide her mirth. When she'd calmed down a little, she agreed to letting them teach her a few good kicks and punches. 

"My parents probably won't let me do more, but even that much will be better than sitting at home all day," she said as they packed up their containers and trash. 

"If it's just a matter of having someone watch out for you, like an asthma buddy, I can look stuff up, no problem," Stiles proclaimed. 

Erica snorted. "My parents would take one look at your lunch habits and run screaming." 

"Ooh, that's mean, cat girl." Stiles grabbed his chest like a wounded man. "I can be very responsible, I'll have you know." 

Isaan threw him an inscrutable look before muttering, "He's not wrong." 

"I'll ask," Erica promised. Suddenly a little shy, she fluttered her lashes at Stiles. "I can't believe that you'd really want to spend time with me. What happened to Scott McCall?"

"Allison happened," Stiles huffed, rolling his eyes. 

"Not just her," Isaac added ominously. He pushed against Stiles' shoulder to get him moving. "Class is about to start." 

"Yeah, yeah. See you tomorrow?" Stiles asked. 

Erica beamed. "Sure!" 

They parted ways, Isaac staying by Stiles' side even though he wasn't in Stiles' biology class. A short glance behind was all the explanation Stiles needed: Scott was still on the prowl and looking pissed at being thwarted again. 

"See you," Isaac said nonchalantly when they'd reached Stiles' classroom and promptly turned around to make it to his own class on time. 

All through biology, Stiles could practically feel Scott vibrating with impotent fury. There was even a note being thrown at his head, which Stiles let the teacher find because he was vindictive like that. With Scott in detention, it would be far easier to get away from school anyway, so Stiles counted it as a double-win. 

"Where to?" Stiles asked upon meeting Isaac by his jeep. 

"The diner?" Isaac asked. "I need a milkshake with our talk."

"Great thinking. Hop in."

The drive was over quickly and they didn't have to wait long for their milkshakes either. 

When the waitress was gone, Isaac pulled a slender folder from his backpack and handed it over. "Peter said that this is how he'll be doing things."

"So you're not yet, you know, of the growly kind?" Stiles asked, surprised.

"Not yet," Isaac said. "But I'll be soon." 

"Why?" Stiles asked, tracing the edges of the folder. "I get the strength and stuff, but Peter would be your alpha. He's ... difficult." 

"I know that." Isaac poked his milkshake with the red hooped drinking straw. "He was really open about everything, Stiles." 

" _Everything_ everything?" Stiles pushed. "Like, that he turned into a giant monster and murdered people?" 

"Yep," Isaac said calmly. "Look inside." 

Stiles' fingers trembled a little as he opened the folder and found the same front page, but without the girlish formatting. The agreement was way shorter than Stiles', and it looked terribly finalized. 

"You're giving him a lot of leeway," Stiles remarked, voice catching in his throat. "He could make you do very questionable stuff." 

"I know. But I'm ... not like you, Stiles. I don't really care about that. I just want a better family, after what my dad did. Peter said he'd be good to me. Teach me how to be what he is and help me have a good life. I understand that he'll need to discipline me because I'll be dangerous for a while." Isaac shrugged. "I can handle it as long as I know why." 

"But do you trust him not to abuse you?" Stiles asked, worried. "He's still a, uh, work in progress. He might have called the cops on your dad, but he needs a pack and he's obviously recruiting."

  
"As I said, he was very open about what he wants and expects," Isaac murmured. "He won't hit me just for the hell of it, or lock me in a freezer. I'd have a place to stay, and regular meals, and someone to make sure I do my homework. That's already better than what I had at home, or what I'd have in a group home or something." 

"Yeah, but he could compel you to help him murder people." Stiles lowered his voice. "Do you really trust him not to do that?" 

"I trust him to protect me from people who might want to take him away from me," Isaac countered, and shit. 

"You've already told him yes," Stiles groaned. 

"I have. He wanted us to talk anyway, to get to know each other before it happens." 

Stiles snorted. "Man, I can't believe it and I don't even know why. I guess I'm a little appalled that he chose an abuse victim." He grimaced. "He didn't blackmail you emotionally, right?" 

"There was no need," Isaac said, mouth quirking up in a crooked smile. "I really want what he's offering, even after sleeping on it for a couple of nights. Having that contract is a nice touch, but I'd have joined him for far less. I guess I have to thank you for that, Stiles."

Stiles breathed deeply. "I kind of wish that none of this were happening, but if it has to, I guess I can be glad that Peter's turning you, and not Jackson. I might have a real problem with that." 

"Jackson's on the blacklist," Isaac said, causing Stiles to choke on his angry sip of his milkshake. "So ... pack brothers?"

He sounded so hopeful that Stiles just couldn't argue any further. "Pack brothers," he answered, brain a little frozen and windpipe raw, raising his glass for a toast. "Cheers." 

oOo

"When are you gonna give the bite to Isaac?" Stiles asked Peter that night. He'd put his headphones in to minimize Scott's ability to eavesdrop on his phone calls.

The man hummed quietly. "We haven't decided yet. After your little talk, Isaac mentioned that he might like to have you there as a witness." 

"He what?" Stiles swallowed against the queasiness rising from his stomach. "Ugh." 

"It's actually quite common in packs," Peter explained. "My family mostly consisted of born wolves, but every now and again we've welcomed a human member. If they chose the bite, the others were there to welcome and watch over them." 

Stiles paled. "And if the bite didn't take, they wouldn't die alone." 

"Yes." Peter's voice was calm. "The bite could kill Isaac, and since he doesn't have anyone in the world but us, he wants you around for it." 

"I don't know him, and I don't wanna see him die," Stiles protested. "Also, how can he trust you so much already? If anything, he should be super wary after what his dad did to him."

  
"He was, at first," Peter conceded. "But he needs someone. He needs and wants a functional family to combat the trauma, and I'm willing to be that for him." 

"His contract is so ... he's literally willing to kill for you, dude, no questions asked," Stiles whispered fiercely. "How's that healthy?" 

"It's what he needs to not feel powerless," Peter said. "Isaac is very different from you, Stiles, but he won't be cannon fodder just because he's broken. I can promise you that."  
  
Stiles could still hardly fathom that Isaac had chosen _Peter_ out of all people to be his person, and yet here they were. 

"I'll be there," he sighed in defeat. "But I'm not mopping up blood or puke, so you'd better be nice about it." 

"I'll be gentle," Peter purred. 

"Ew, dude." Stiles made a face. 

Peter's smirk was audible. "I'll text you the time and place. Isaac wants to make a day of it, and he's called dibs on choosing the movies." 

"Oh my god, all of them?" Stiles leaned his head back and groaned. "Can I pick the food?" 

"Why not, he won't be able to stomach any of it for a day or so if all goes well." Peter paused and then he _chuckled_. "Isaac wants me to tell you that you're a terrible person." 

"I've heard that before," Stiles replied snarkily. "Also, you're even more terrible than I am. I don't know why Isaac's not letting you have it, too."

"He's got no illusions about my goodness," Peter said smugly. "Goodnight, Stiles. Don't forget to secure your room."

  
He hung up and Stiles was left gaping at the darkening screen.

  
**End of part 4**


	5. Chapter 5

**Part 5**

Time was not Stiles' friend. He and Isaac had had their talk about the bite on Thursday, which was, incidentally, the day before the new moon. According to the lore, the wolf in a were was weakest at that time, therefore making the days following the event the best suited for a turning. 

Which meant that Isaac and Peter had chosen that weekend to do the deed, and Stiles was not so quietly freaking out on Friday night. 

"I can't do it," he muttered, pacing the length of his room. In his fist he squeezed some of the mountain ash. It acted like some sort of magic putty, not a corn falling through his fingers onto the carpet, even though he was kneading it vigorously like a stress ball. "Oh my god, that idiot will _die_ and I'll be an accessory to manslaughter." 

There was a rap on the window pane, causing Stiles to whirl around and throw his handful of ash against it. 

"Sourwolf!" he cried at spying Derek's grumpy face. "Oh, good, you're just the wolf I didn't know I needed! Come in!" 

Stiles opened the window and yanked the werewolf inside by the scruff of his leather jacket. Derek went, although he hissed and contorted weirdly for a moment. 

"What are you doing?" Derek growled once he'd found his feet. "I feel like I'm standing in a mine field!" 

"It's the mountain ash, but nevermind that now. I need your advice." Stiles propelled Derek to the bed and shoved him down, then sat on the chair himself and bouncing his leg. "So, Peter's gonna bite someone, and they both want me there as witness." 

"What!" Derek roared. 

"I know!" Stiles wailed, throwing up his hands. "It'll be bloody and awful and I'm so not cut out for this. What am I supposed to do? Isaac cornered me at school and used his fucking puppy dog eyes on me! How do I get out of this!" 

Derek's chest was heaving and his frown had reached the kill level. There were even fangs showing, and his eyes were glowing that unnaturally bright blue. 

"Dude, say something," Stiles begged. "At least tell me if that's normal!" 

"It's ..." Derek visibly forced himself to relax. "It is ... in old families. It's supposed to ... form an attachment between members of the pack." He breathed deeply, closing his eyes for a moment. "The ones receiving the bite show their trust in the pack, while the ones attending the turning show their willingness to protect the new wolf." 

"Okay, so it's not some bullshit but legit fact." Stiles slumped with relief. "But there'll be blood." 

Derek looked at him as if he were a complete moron. "It's a werewolf bite. Of course there'll be blood." 

"Right, I just mean, I saw Lydia's bite and I really, _really_ don't want to see one like that again. It was horrible." Stiles grimaced. "So, so horrible. I'm not sure I can overlook that, but I still kind of want the negotiation to work out." 

"Since you're clearly not ready to abandon this crackpot idea, I won't tell you that Peter probably won't ever be feeling remorseful about it," Derek said stiffly. The glow finally left his eyes and his fangs receeded. "But if you attending the turning is important to the boy Peter has charmed, you should be there. If not for Peter's sake, then the kid's and your own."

"My own," Stiles echoed, confused. "How will me freaking out be of any worth to them?" 

Derek sighed. "You're not usually this dumb. If you go there, you're showing my uncle that you're still in _and_ you might have some control over how it goes. Peter seems to listen to you some, why not use that."

"You don't need to sound so constipated about it," Stiles huffed, but he did feel a little better. "Sooo, on a scale from one to ten, how much would Peter hate it if I Stepford Mom-ed the whole thing?" 

Derek's surprised smile was a thing of beauty.

oOo

Saturday came quickly. Too quickly. Stiles had no idea time could pass that quickly, and he also had no idea where his fingernails had gone. At least when the timer on the phone reminded him to get his ass in gear, the insufferable inaction he'd been forced to stew in was over. 

Shouting a goodbye to his father, Stiles left the house at a run and kicked his jeep into gear. He had two stops to make and - he glanced into the rear view mirror - a certain beta werewolf to lose before he could go over to Peter's new house. 

Grinning, he looked back to the street and let Scott follow him on his bike. 

His first stop was the little bakery on maine that sold the absolut best cakes and danishes in town. Stiles' order was a big one, assuring that someone was coming out with him to help carry the load. 

Scott, who was standing near and pretending to fuss with his phone, scowled at that. 

The second, and infinitely better, opportunity for Scott to get close was in the eastern part of town. There were less private residences and broader streets for industrial vehicles, but also Stiles' favourite caterer. 

In one such abandoned street Scott pulled his bike up level to Stiles' jeep. His stare was glowing yellow and he let his motor roar like a wannabe rocker. 

Stiles knew that his window of opportunity was fading fast - it looked like Scott wanted to get in front of him to force him to a halt - and he quickly grabbed the water pistol from the passenger seat. 

"Down, boy," he said, squeezing the trigger and shooting a haphazard line in front of them. 

Due to the airstream, a lot of it got lost, but there was still a line of mountain ash water forming on the asphalt, immediately slamming Scott out of his bike's seat. The teen landed like a ragdoll on the unforgiving street while the bike went for at least twenty yards more before it began to wobble. 

Not wanting to get caught up in that business, even if it was sort of horrifyingly hilarious, Stiles floored it and drove off, hoping to all hell that this hadn't been caught on camera somewhere. 

Ten minutes later he reached the address Peter hat texted him and slammed the car door extra loudly to catch the man's attention. 

"Yo, do you mind sending down the puppy to help with some stuff?" he asked, not bothering to raise his voice because there were people out and about, because Peter really did get a house in fucking downtown, the pretentious asshole. 

Sure enough, Isaac came loping out of the door, smiling nervously. 

"Hey Stiles," he greeted. "What's up?" 

"I need a pack mule. Get this, will ya? And be careful or we'll all regret it." Without waiting for an answer, he hung bags on Isaac's arms and loaded him with parcels until the boy could barely move. Stiles then loaded himself, locked his jeep, and went ahead so he could hold the doors for Isaac. 

"It smells fantastic, what do you have in there?" Isaac asked as they rode up in the elevator. 

"The best Beacon Hills has to offer," Stiles replied. "Of course Peter has his villain lair at the top." 

"This whole building his is villain lair," Isaac said and grinned at Stiles' wide-eyed gasp. "He told you he has money, didn't he?" 

"He did, actually, but ... how does that work? Aren't people at the hospital still looking for him? How will he deal with the scrutiny? He was in a coma, for crying out loud, and now he's gallivanting around like nothing ever happened." 

Isaac shrugged. "There's not a lot people can do about him being out and about. He's not _dead_ , is he?" 

Stiles chewed on his lower lip. "I guess so." 

"Here we are." Isaac pushed the heavy apartment door open with his foot and led Stiles straight to the open living area with the kitchen at the far side of the enormous room. There were large, potted plants everywhere, the minimalist furniture balanced by large, colourful works of art in breathtaking colours. 

"This ... looks surprisingly good," Stiles said as he stumbled to the kitchen island and put down his bags. "Wow." 

"I'm glad you approve," Peter said, approaching them with easy confidence. He flashed his eyes red for a second like a sort of greeting, looking far too handsome in his blue V-neck shirt and dark jeans. His feet were bare which threw Stiles for a loop, somehow. "Did you get here without problems?" 

"Scott tried to hold me up, but I evaded," Stiles said, trying for airy and mostly succeeding. "So how's this gonna go down? You were both frustratingly vague about the whole thing." 

Isaac looked at him with open incomprehension. "Peter will bite me and I'll make it or I won't." 

"What," Stiles asked. 

"There's not much more to it," Peter said, a bemused smile curling up his lips. 

"Oh hell no, I didn't sign up for this farce," Stiles huffed. He pointed at Isaac, nearly poking him in the chest. "First of all, you becoming a werewolf is worth more than getting mauled and then wallowing in pain until it either takes or doesn't, and watching your shitty movies throughout. And second of all, if that's all, I hardly needed to be there for it!" 

"I did want you here for it, but it doesn't have to be a big deal," Isaac said with a little half-shrug. "I'd much rather just get it over with." 

"Fine, I get it, but there's no way we're just getting you mauled where you stand." Stiles' eye fell on the huge L-shaped couch in the corner. "Over there's good. You could lie down for it. Wouldn't make fainting such a problem." 

"On my new couch, Stiles?" Peter was unimpressed. "That's _suede_ , you little heathen." 

"Are you saying that your _suede_ couch is somehow more important that Isaac's comfort?" Stiles rolled his eyes and barrelled on before Peter could actually say something. "I didn't think so." He hefted a stack of old but soft towels from one of the bags and pushed them into Isaac's arms. "Here, lay them out on that couch abomination so you'll have a nest or something. I'll get drinks and snacks. I'm not letting yourself be ripped into like a lamb, even if Peter actually is a wolf." 

"And I'm not to be consulted?" Peter asked with a hint of growl in his voice. He crossed his arms. "That couch was expensive."

"Taking care of Isaac will cost far more money than a stupid couch," Stiles said, taking the danishes from their carton next. "Besides, having him on there will make you bite him _gently_. Win-win, yeah?" 

Peter took a few steps closer, until his breath nearly touched Stiles' skin. In a voice too quiet to be overheard, he said, "I do not enjoy being steamrolled, but I'll allow it. This time. You owe me a favour, though." 

"Depends on the sort of favour," Stiles answered, sweat breaking out between his shoulder blades. He licked his suddenly dry lips.

A not very kind grin spread over Peter's face. "It's nothing heinous, in the grand scheme of things." 

"Coming from you, that's hardly a comfort," Stiles said, wishing the werewolf would just get his pointy teeth away from him. 

Peter, however, was visibly enjoying the effect the was having on Stiles. "It won't get your hands dirty, sweetheart. That enough?" 

"That's the _least_ you can promise me," Stiles replied, squirming under Peter's unrelenting red-eyed stare. "Since you won't get your hands dirty here, either." 

"I do like you, Stiles, so I'll get to the point," Peter smirked. "You'll keep entertaining my nephew until I've decided what to do about him." He subtly straightened and snagged a strawberry danish from the platter Stiles had arranged them on. "Since he's been by not so long ago, anyway." 

"Oh god, do I have to?" Stiles groaned. His back felt clammy with the cooling sweat. "He's _your_ family." 

"And I'll be busy with Isaac," Peter said, taking a bite out of the pastry. Something like a purr rumbled in his chest. "You went to Marsha's; I did miss her delicacies." 

"Don't eat them all. Isaac deserves all the cake for this," Stiles grumbled. 

In short order, he had placed water and juice, as well as some assorted snacks, on the couch table, and bullied Isaac into a comfortable position on the couch. 

"Why don't you let him rest his head in your lap?" Peter asked, a wicked glint in his eyes as he pushed Stiles down with an effortless shove against his shoulder.

"Why would I-" Stiles spluttered when Isaac, the traitor, promptly moved to do just that. "Dude!" 

"It's very comfy, Stiles," Isaac said with a little grin and looked up. 

"You even get bonus points for not hovering over my shoulder and wringing your hands like a worry wart," Peter needled. "Stay there. Isaac, ruck up your shirt." 

Again Isaac followed the order without question, pulling up his long-sleeved shirt. There were a few scars littering his torso, a stark reminder why Isaac was willing to go through with it. 

"You've got this," Stiles said, his indignation about being pushed around completely forgotten. He offered Isaac his hand and curled his fingers tightly when the other boy took it. 

"Ready, Isaac?" Peter asked, crouching at the boy's side. His teeth elongated and his eyes turned red. 

"Yes," Isaac whispered. "Go for it." 

And Peter leaned forward and let his fangs slide into the soft skin. 

**End of part 5**


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is getting too long and involved, I swear to god. *sigh*

**Part 6**

  
  
Stiles had spent weekends worse, all things considered, but being trapped under 150 pounds of delirious teenage boy wasn't very high up there, either. At least Isaac's taste in movies wasn't as shitty as he'd feared - they had let Die Hard play after the bite, and Isaac had even felt up to nibbling on a danish during the first half hour, but soon the bite had taken its toll and he'd buried his hot face in Stiles' thigh and gone largely unresponsive. 

"I need to pee," Stiles said roughly an hour later, squirming huffily. "And Isaac's getting heavy. You wanna trade places for a minute?" 

"What, and have you scram?" Peter smirked, lifting a tall glass of Long Island Ice Tea in a toast. "The puppy likes having you as his pillow. It's positively darling how tenderly you're petting his hair." 

"You try resisting that shit." Stiles huffed and narrowed his eyes. "Fine, if you've already written off your _suede_ couch, I'll just let flow. I'm sure your explanation will be all Isaac needs after his golden shower. And yes, it'll be worth it because he'll believe me over you after the things you said earlier." 

Peter's smirk widened and the skin crinkled around his eyes in honest amusement. He did get up, though, and even offered Stiles his deceptively human hand to help him up. "Don't take too long. My lap's not half as comfy as yours." 

"I sure as hell hope not," Stiles muttered. Carefully, he lifted Isaac's head and shimmied out from under him. The little whimper did not tug at him. It did _not_. Unfortunately, the constant pressure had caused both of his feet to fall asleep and he yelped a little as pins and needles shot along his nerves. Suddenly taking Peter's offered paw didn't seem so outlandish anymore. "Holy crap, ow." 

"You should stretch a little before sitting down again," Peter advised smugly, his warm fingers staying for a touch longer around Stiles' than strictly necessary. "And since you're already up, why don't you brew us some coffee and bring some more of those delicious danishes?" 

"Anything else I can do for you, sir?" Stiles asked sarcastically. He shook out his legs. "Should I take out the good silver?" 

"Why, that's a marvellous idea. Upper left cupboard." With something that looked suspiciously like practised ease, Peter took Stiles' place on the couch and placed Isaac's head on his thighs. "Ssh, calm down, pup. All's well." 

"The bite?" Isaac whispered, hand weakly splaying over his injured side. Stiles had cleaned and bandaged it to avoid actually soiling the stupid couch, but there were some red spots coming through the tape now. 

Peter carded his clawed fingers through Isaac's hair, causing the teen to shudder with pleasure. "It doesn't smell infected and there's no black in the blood yet. So far, it's looking good." 

Isaac went boneless again. "'s good."

Stiles tore his gaze from the weirdly intimate display and went in search of the bathroom. Like the whole loft it was spacious and of minimalist design, but with a certain lavish colonial style. There was even a large pot of bamboo fern standing in the corner, and an indoor water feature was creating a ridiculously calming atmosphere. 

After relieving himself, Stiles went snooping through all the cabinets and snickered at Peter's poncy brand products. Pretentious as it all was, his stuff did smell very nice, even the fluffy towels. 

Finally he found his way back to the living area and went to lay out the pastries on one of Peter's even more ridiculous silver salvers, taking care to smudge as many fingerprints onto the polished metal as possible. After that came an almost spacy interaction with the fully automated coffee machine. 

"That shit's state of the art, isn't it?" Stiles asked while the machine brewed him a perfect latte macchiato with just one press of a button. 

"I'm not interested in wasting my time with bad anything," Peter replied, eyes tracking each and every one of Stiles' moves. "Make mine a caramel latte. In the cabinet above the coffee maker." 

"You even have high-end sirup," Stiles grinned. "Sweet, literally." He poured a healthy amount of caramel sirup into the next glass and pressed the latte macchiato button again. "Mind if I have some vanilla with mine?" 

"Go right ahead," Peter said. He frowned when the next film started. "I'm beginning to question the wisdom of allowing Isaac to choose all the movies. The amount of explosions is appalling." 

Stiles snickered. "He wanted all the Die Hards, didn't he?" 

"I'll forgive him this indignity, eventually." 

Rolling his eyes, Stiles pressed the button for the cleaning cycle and carried their lattes over. "I don't actually want to enhance your already impressive murder capabilities, but I don't think they're that dumb." He gestured at the screen, where John McClane was just starting to have yet another bad day. "That guy is clever and thinks outside the box. Also, he's resourceful and resilient, all good qualities for a fighter to have, right?" 

"Maybe," Peter allowed. His eyes flashed red for a moment as he inhaled the coffee aroma of his drink. "I still hesitate to consider those abominations educational." 

Stiles went again for the platter with the danishes, taking the only strawberry one and grinning at Peter's glower. "The ones with berry are awesome, too, don't be stingy." 

"You do seem to forget that I'm the alpha here," Peter growled.

"And you seem to forget that I'm not yet your beta," Stiles retorted and got just close enough for Peter to take a pastry. As soon as that was done, he put the platter down and sat in the armchair Peter had vacated. "Seriously, dude, if you're looking for unquestioning obedience, you might want to think about raiding a military base or something. Teenagers are notorious for not doing what they're being told to do." 

"I'll take that under consideration." 

Stiles refused to be intimidated by the sharpening of Peter's teeth and the slight narrowing of his eyes. "No need to sound so pissy," he said, sounding a lot braver than he felt. "I'm just the messenger here." 

"A very opinionated one, at that," Peter said, red eyes intent on Stiles. "You're going to be trouble, aren't you?" 

"What, you didn't glean that from our previous interactions?" Stiles licked at the milk foam on his upper lip. 

"Stiles." There was a definite rumble of warning in Peter's voice now and Stiles tensed up promptly. 

"Look, I'm not trying to ... to _undermine_ you," Stiles said. "But I'm not gonna take shit lying down either. If I've got questions, I'm gonna ask them. And if you want our thing to work out, you'll have to _give_ me answers. That's who I am, a nosy, spastic sheriff's kid. We can negotiate a lot, but I'm not gonna be able to negotiate _that_ away." He looked defiantly at the werewolf. "You know, maybe you should be more careful about who and what you lick. You might hate to get to keep it." 

  
"Maybe you should stop talking now," Peter said, teeth still a little bared, but the rumble was gone. 

"Fine," Stiles muttered and bit into his danish, getting powdered sugar all over himself. 

On screen, John McClane was killing one of the terrorists with prejudice. 

oOo 

  
Late that night, Stiles was puttering around his empty house. There were spareribs and a danish in the fridge for his father, the kitchen was spotlessly clean for once - and Stiles didn't know what to do with himself. 

The bite had taken and Isaac had turned into a werewolf, right in front of his eyes. While that had been scary as fuck, it had also thankfully meant that the bite wound had healed over without leaving a scar.

To Stiles' surprise, Peter had even been _good_ about it, had allowed Isaac to get his bearings at his own pace after waking up in the evening, and had patiently talked him through his first sensory overload. There had been tight hugs and smushed faces in shoulder bends, and a careful introduction of Stiles' scent to the new wolf, followed by an eating binge the likes of which Stiles had never seen before. _Everything_ he'd brought had gone into Isaac's stomach, and then some. 

In a way it made Stiles feel proud, having done something right for once. Having taken care of is new friend when he'd been so frighteningly vulnerable. 

He was _glad_ that Isaac's change had gone over so well, he was. Unfortunately, he was also feeling uncomfortably jealous, now that the excitement had worn off. Stiles didn't like the feeling, this slickly writhing mess of emotion deep in his belly, but he was honest enough with himself not to brush it aside. Dealing with his unrequited crush on Lydia for years on end had taught him that things only got worse if he did, and obsession wasn't fun for anyone.

Sullenly, all house work done, Stiles eventually went up to his room and threw himself on his bed. He felt like a grade A asshole for feeling jealous over Peter Hale's attention, of all things. It was utterly dumb and irrational. 

However, the fact of the matter was that Peter had a real beta now, one that'd stay by his side and help him with everything that needed to be done. What did he need Stiles for, now? Loud-mouthed, outspoken Stiles who was contradicting him at every turn in a manner that even his long-suffering father probably wouldn't tolerate, were he around long enough to be subjected to it. 

A knock against the window jolted him out of his spiralling thoughts. He half expected the visitor to be Scott, but it was Derek hovering outside. 

Small mercies, at least. 

Sighing, Stiles opened the window and broke the mountain ash line in front of it. "You could've called." 

Derek climbed in and very obviously sniffed the air. "What happened. Your smell's not good." 

"Can you ask questions like a normal person?" Stiles countered, backing away and therefore tacitly inviting the other man to stay awhile. "Seriously, use some inflection so you'll sound less like a droid." 

Unimpressed, Derek crossed his arms over his chest and waited. 

"Everything went well, Isaac made it," Stiles huffed out. He flopped back onto his bed. "There was even very little blood. Satisfied?" 

"Not really. If all went well, why are you like this?" Derek asked, eyebrows raised. “You smell confusing.”

"It's complicated," Stiles mumbled into his pillow. 

"That's why you should've stayed out of it." Derek appropriated the desk chair and sat down. "Werewolf business can be hard to stomach." 

"It's not that. Everything's peachy on the blood front. Your uncle wasn't even a dick about it, most of the time." Stiles rubbed his hands over his face. "I just ... I dunno." 

"What don't you know?" Derek pressed.

"I just thought I'd be first," Stiles confessed, suddenly tired of all the drama brewing inside himself. He pulled the pillow from his face, staring at the ceiling and wishing that he could be less of an asshole.

Derek stared. "You wouldn't have been the first. That's Scott." 

"I know that." Stiles pulled a face. "I meant, the first of his actual betas. The one that actually wants to work with Peter, you know. But now there's Isaac and I don't know why I'm even telling you but ..." In one horrifying bout of word-vomit, Stiles voiced all of his fears, finishing with, "I should've known that I'd be too much, even for someone like _Peter_. You can laugh now, go ahead. I deserve it." 

"You do not," Derek said after a moment, voice clipped. "You're young and impressionable, and Peter obviously managed to leave an impression. That's unfortunate, but understandable. He was always good at charming people. That's why he went into law." 

"It's more of a personal failing, but thanks for trying to cheer me up," Stiles grumbled, pillow back over his face to hide his embarrassed flush. "I hate being like this. It's not like Isaac doesn't need a good home, sheesh." 

"You can be glad for him and still feel slighted," Derek told him. He sighed. "Also, it's one of the unfortunate facts of werewolf life that pleasing the alpha of the pack is kind of an imperative." 

"Dude, really?" Stiles scrunched up his nose. "I thought that was just this alpha voice thing Peter tried to pull with Scott. Also, I'm human." 

"That voice thing is a last resort, actually," Derek muttered. "Normally betas _want_ to be in a pack. The members form a unit, with similar goals if at all possible. Scott didn't want the bite, and he hates Peter for it. His instincts might prod him to turn to his alpha, but it's not like they make him mindless. Far from it, as soon as he's learned some control. Plus, being human doesn't exclude you from wanting to belong somewhere, does it?" 

Stiles sat up, fascinated despite feeling like a wrung out dish rag. "What about you? You're related to Peter; does that mean he's your alpha by default?" 

"No," Derek bit out. 

"Why not?" The werewolf's shifty look immediately had Stiles scenting blood. "Dude, spill. Where else am I gonna get the intel I need? Is it because of your sister?"

"Yes," Derek ground out. "My uncle killed family." He stared at nothing for a moment, scowl terrifying on his pale face. "Worse, I did, too. There's no going back from that." 

They stared at each other for long moments. 

Finally, Stiles said, "It wasn't you, Derek."

"I might as well have set the house on fire myself," Derek replied, angry and tired. "I know it, Peter knows it." 

"And I call bullshit." Stiles fought himself into a sloppy cross-legged seat and glowered. "You don't have to tell me, but I can guess. She – Kate Argent – she seduced you, didn't she?" 

Derek stoically glared ahead. 

"Fine, you don't have to tell me, but the way you look right now is saying enough.”

“Leave it, Stiles,” Derek growled.

“The hell I will. You were a _minor_ so she fucking _raped_ you. She totally knew what she was doing, and she probably enjoyed doing it." Stiles clambered to the end of the bed and leaned forward. "My dad's got tons of cautionary tales, you know, and he doesn't tire telling them because we get way too many attractive temp teachers at school." 

"Horny, are you?" Derek bit out. 

"A stiff breeze could get me going," Stiles admitted with a shrug. "What I'm saying is, you weren't the first misled kid, and you won't be the last." 

"Is that supposed to comfort me somehow?" Derek gritted out. He'd gone even paler, his dark hair, eyebrows, and stubble a stark contrast to the pasty skin. 

"Yeah, it does," Stiles said. "You were dumb, but you didn't know, did you? You didn't want your family to die." 

"No." Derek's shoulders sagged and all the fight suddenly went out of him. 

"She did, though," Stiles persisted. "She used and abused you - and a lot of other people, too - to do it and that makes her 100% guilty in my books." He brightened. "The good thing about the whole clusterfuck is that she's dead now. Couldn't have happened to a nicer lady, really."

"You have rather skewed morals for a sheriff's son," Derek muttered, eyeing Stiles suspiciously. 

"I know, I know, it's keeping me up at night." Stiles rolled his eyes. "Just kidding, it doesn't. No one's gonna put me in jail for thinking that she deserved it so stop it already with the being scandalized. It's getting old, fast. Besides, Peter's method might have been a little biblical, but you have to admit that it was effective."

Derek averted his red-rimmed, burning gaze. "I don't want to talk about Peter anymore. I should go." 

"You don't have to," Stiles said. He patted the bed invitingly. "We could watch stupid action movies and forget what a cesspool of negativity this shitty town is for a while. I even have leftover spareribs from Isaac's turning party. Well, I say leftover, they're more like extras I bought for my dad, but whatever. You can have them, if you want." 

Derek mouthed the words 'turning party', but after a long moment of indecision, he toed off his shoes, hung the leather jacket on the back of the chair, and climbed onto the bed, a healthy distance between him and Stiles. “Fine. One movie.”

Stiles tried not to feel smug about it, but from the little side-eye Derek shot him he wasn't wholly successful. 

Still, neither of them were rattling around alone tonight, so Stiles counted it as a win. 

**End of part 6**


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a word of warning: Erica's having a seizure (like she does in canon), and Stiles is having a crisis or three, because when doesn't he.

**Part 7**

Stiles didn't know whether to be indignant or relieved when he found the extra dollar bills neatly tucked away in his backpack. They were clearly from Peter, because Derek, after stress-eating the spareribs before vanishing in the night like a regular creeper, had just scowled and thrown a handful of money on the hall table.

For a second, Stiles had felt like a cheap hooker. Then he'd shrugged, pocketed the money, and opened a new budget envelope for the care and feeding of the guy, because if one thing was certain, it would be just his shitty luck if he'd chummed Derek enough to be saddled with him for _eternity_.

_Your nephew is a regular food tank_ , Stiles wrote, unheeding of the witching hour and the likelihood of disturbing the alpha werewolf's sleep. _He ate everything in my fridge. Literally everything, even the questionable gherkins at the very back. Where are you guys putting all that food! Is there a pocket dimension in your stomachs that I should know about?_

Peter's answer was slow coming, as it usually did when Stiles was complaining about Derek, but he _was_ still awake, like the creature of the night he so obviously was. _Don't be absurd, we merely have special enzymes that break down any food especially fast to fuel our high metabolism. Our healing doesn't just happen because of magic, you know_. 

Stiles frowned because dammit, magic would've been _so_ much cooler. 

_I should probably tell you that junk food is ill suited to support a werewolf's metabolism, so be mindful of what you're feeding my dear nephew and Isaac_ , Peter continued. _With Gerard Argent in town, I need them both at the top of their game._

_Dude, don't tell a teenager not to eat junk food_ , Stiles typed back furiously. _That's a crime against humanity._

_Let me phrase it differently then, so you'll understand just how serious I am about this: If I smell even a whiff of cheap junk on Isaac and find out that you fed him, I won't continue to be so accommodating in our negotiations._

"What the hell," Stiles muttered. _Isaac's nearly a grown puppy. He can eat what he wants._

_Not as my beta, he doesn't_ , Peter replied immediately. _Get used to it, Stiles_. 

Annoyed, but not enough to declare open warfare, Stiles scowled and sent, _Fine, mom. Don't get your fancy-ass knickers in a twist._

_I do not usually wear knickers, sweetheart. Far too restricting._ (⌒.－)＝★

"Oh, ugh!" Stiles dropped the phone like a hot potato and scrubbed his face with his hands. "Bad thought, bad thought!" When he was done freaking out, he changed Peter's contact name to Creeper Wolf, and Derek's to Sourwolf just because he could.

As his short list of contacts rearranged itself, he got stuck on Scott's name. 

Scott, who had tried to catch him yesterday, with the possible intent of doing harm. Whether that meant harm to Peter, or Peter and Stiles both, in his quest to lose the curse, Stiles couldn't - and also really didn't want to - fathom, but the mere sense of threat was enough to make his heartbeat pick up a pace. He felt bad about causing a freaking _accident_ to lose his disturbed friend, the only saving grace being that he'd known that Scott wouldn't die from that little tumble. 

Stiles grimaced, wondering when he'd turned into one of those assholes who used such reasoning to defend their actions. The crash still had caused Scott pain, after all. Stiles had knowingly and willingly hurt a close friend, _and_ destroyed his most prized property. Melissa was probably furious, and Stiles could only imagine what she'd do to him if Scott were to tell her. 

_Would_ Scott tell her? 

The anxiety in Stiles clawed at his innards. He didn't want to deal with that on top of everything else, didn't want to hurt Melissa by telling her how irrational her son had become in the last couple of months. She'd be so disappointed in them both after they'd grown up almost like brothers.

Well, he should, perhaps, stop calling Scott his brother as long as he was vaguely behaving like a homicidal stalker, if only for his own peace of mind. It hadn't been fun that first week after Scott's turning when Scott had tried to kill him, and it wasn't any more fun now.

In fact, Scott had turned into quite a douche after his upgrade. As soon as he'd lost his asthma, he'd also lost interest in being a decent human being, at least around Stiles. Sure, Allison got the five star treatment, but then Stiles supposed that she was putting out like a champ to keep Scott wrapped around her murdery little finger. 

And god, Stiles was _not_ going to get over her shooting Derek like he was a rabid animal. Not ever. 

His phone chimed and a message popped onto the screen. With one eye, Stiles read it, and yep, it was Peter.

_Go to sleep, Stiles._

"How ... no, I don't want to know," Stiles huffed. 

_You too, Creeper Wolf_ , he typed back and actually heaved himself up and dragged his sorry carcass into the bathroom for a quick wash. 

oOo

"Dude, Peter got you a motorcycle?" Stiles asked. He looked the white and orange dirt bike over and whistled. "Not bad!" 

"It's a used, but that's alright since I'm a beginner," Isaac said, banked excitement making his face glow. 

"Used is a-okay as long as it works," Stiles agreed. "Although why not a car? What are you gonna do when it rains?" 

"Then Peter will loan me his, or drive me. He didn't want me to have a car in case I need to get away quickly," Isaac explained. "The bike's really good for narrow alleys and stuff. I have to get special lessons to be good at it, but I think it'll be fun. Plus, I can use it in the preserve and cut down patrolling time." 

"Sounds like he really thought it through," Stiles grinned before sobering again. "But dude ... should you be here already? Scott had a really hard time adapting to all the smells and noises here. Why didn't you take a couple of days?" 

"I'm alright, it's different with an alpha, and a pack." Isaac looked meaningfully at Stiles. "And also, he asked me to keep you company until the Scott situation is dealt with." 

"He'll know what happened," Stiles warned. "I hope he won't attack or something, but he seems sort of ... unhinged. He, uh, he did try to kill me a couple of times right after he got bitten." 

"Don't worry, Stiles, if he tries, I'll bite back." Isaac smirked, his new confidence not a bad look on him at all. "Come on, first bell's about to ring." 

Isaac escorted Stiles to class, every class, which of course didn't go unnoticed by the excitable student population. The fun thing - and no, Stiles was not above enjoying such pettiness - was how easily Isaac was shoving jeering idiots into the lockers, not even pausing as he did it. 

"I think I have a little crush on you," Stiles confessed after class. He didn't mind Isaac's intention to sit in on lacrosse training, although he was a little confused when the new werewolf steered him to Coach Finstock's little office instead of following him to the changing room. "What are we doing here?"

"You're going to resign," Isaac told him. "Peter's arranged for martial arts lessons." 

"Oh." Stiles didn't quite know how to feel about that. Peter was clearly a doer, not a talker, which was in many ways a plus. On the other hand, Stiles felt a little patronized. "Do I have to?" 

"He's not your alpha yet," Isaac replied, leaning against the wall and looking like he had all the time in the world for this conversation. "But he wants us to be able to fight, which makes lacrosse useless. You gonna join me? First lesson is in Sweetland, in an hour." 

Stiles kneaded the strap of his backpack for a few moments, thoughts racing. He was attached to lacrosse as a way to prove his manliness to Lydia, but it hadn't taken him anywhere so far, had it? And with Scott honestly scaring him a little, knowing how to throw a proper punch might save his life at one point.

"Yeah, I guess so," he sighed. "I'm afraid of going in there." 

Snorting, Isaac knocked on the door. "That's one battle you'll have to fight alone, man." 

"Yeah!" Finstock shouted, and Stiles girded his loins to get it over with. 

oOo

"I hate you, ow, ow, ow," Stiles whimpered into the phone that night. "Go take a martial arts class, you said. It'll be _fun_ , you said. Just so you know, it isn't!" 

Peter had the audacity to laugh at his pain. "I also said that it'd be far better at increasing your fitness. Seems like I was right, if you're that winded after only one lesson." 

"Maybe I'll be fit in, like, ten years or so," Stiles groaned. "Until then, I'll be one useless lump of flesh, too sore to even raise a fist against whatever creepy-crawly has decided to come at us." 

"Aw, you said _us_ ," Peter gloated. 

"You still think I do this for shits and giggles?" Stiles demanded. "Of course it'll be us! As in, you and me - and Isaac - against the world." 

"It won't be quite so dire, hopefully," Peter said after a little pause, "seeing how I plan to expand the pack. Let's talk about your father." 

At once, Stiles' many aches were forgotten and his mushy mind honed in on Peter's choice of topic. "No." 

"Yes." 

" _No_." 

"Yes, Stiles. He's your family, and he's bound to find out. Additionally, it would be an incredible boon to have someone in law enforcement in the know." 

Stiles groaned. "I don't want him getting mixed up in this shit." 

"Tough, because it'll happen whether you want him to or not. It's inevitable." Peter sounded so cool, like he weren't threatening Stiles' family. "This way, you can at least make sure he gets the right impression." 

"Why should I make sure he does?" Stiles snarled - honestly snarled. "You're the werewolf here, you do it in a manner that won't see you riddled with bullets! If we tell my dad about werewolves, we'll tell him everything, because nothing less will satisfy him." 

"Fine," Peter said, sounding bored. 

"Oh my god, it's _not_ fine!" Stiles shouted. "I'm a minor, and you're a grown-ass dude wanting to give me the bite, which, let me tell you, has all the sexual innuendo my dad won't like. At all." He took a couple of deep breaths, trying to get his rage under control. "I know you're probably still recovering from ... from before, and I get it. I do. But this is not gonna fly. My dad shouldn't know until I'm an adult, if we can help it." 

Peter was silent for so long that Stiles almost believed that the man had put his phone down and gone to pummel the punching bag he'd discovered in the home gym. 

Just before Stiles was convinced that it'd be better to end the call, Peter said, "You may have a point. We'll put informing your father on the back burner." 

"There _is_ someone who needs to know right the fuck now," Stiles offered because he was aware that he needed to give Peter something. 

"Do tell," the man said, a warning vibrating in his voice. 

"Lydia. The girl you mauled on the field," Stiles said firmly. 

"No." 

Stiles' lips firmed on their own accord, and he scowled. " _Yes_." 

Some nights were definitely more difficult than others, and this one geared up to be the most likely to have their negotiations fail yet.

oOo

"You're driving a super hard bargain," Isaac said the next morning. "Peter was so pissy last night." 

"He didn't hurt you, did he?" Stiles asked, at once worried. "Shit, I totally forgot that you'd be there. Sorry." 

"Nah, I'm fine. But he didn't lose the red eyes once, and I think he ruined his phone with his claws by the end of it." Isaac looked searchingly at Stiles. "He doesn't like how worried you are about Lydia." 

Huffing, Stiles locked the jeep and began his slow, achy trek towards the high school entrance. "Well, he can deal, since he decided to attack her in the first place." 

"I know that, and it's not like I don't agree with you," Isaac murmured, "but it was still scary to see him like this. Can't you, I don't know, level it down a little? Not be so demanding all the time? I think he needs more time to ... to get his head back on straight." 

Stiles let out a breath and sucked in his lower lip. "I probably should, shouldn't I?" They stepped into the building and trudged up to their classroom. "And I would if he were more harmless. But he isn't. I'm afraid of what he'll do if I don't give him hell, you know?" 

"Yeah, I guess I do." Isaac guided Stiles to his table, his fingers touching his wrist. 

"Oh my god, what are you doing?" Stiles moaned, causing Jackson, who was lounging by the windows, to whip around and stare at him. "That feels _sooo_ good." 

Isaac smiled shyly. "Peter taught me how to drain pain. Your sore muscles are really killing you; I thought you were exaggerating." 

"I was really not," Stiles breathed blissfully. "Can I marry you?" 

Isaac was spared giving an answer by their teacher's entrance. With a last grin, he slid onto his own chair. 

With Isaac always by his side, Scott was keeping his distance, making lunch an enjoyable affair. Despite only hanging out with Stiles and Isaac for a few days, Erica was blossoming, showing a hint of the lively girl she could be. 

"Marvel's hands down the better franchise," Stiles postulated, waving around a handful of fries, "but I'll give you one DC character to adopt." 

"Just one?" Erica asked, grinning. "That's tough." 

"You're a tough lady, you can do it," Stiles replied and grinned back. "Choose wisely." 

After thinking for a moment, Erica said, "Catwoman, because she's wiley, not afraid to get her hands dirty, and seriously hot." 

"Great choice!" Stiles offered his hand for a high-five. "Mine's Batman, obviously." 

"Obviously? He doesn't have any powers," Isaac said, giving Stiles a meaningful look. 

"Well, yeah, but he compensates for that with his brilliant mind. Just look at his gadgets! And he's making money like it's nothing, that's like its own superpower," Stiles argued. "Although he would be beyond awesome if he did have superpowers. I'm not gonna dispute that." 

"Great, now I wanna have claws," Erica pouted. "To better scratch the asswipes with who try to attack me." 

"They won't dare, after that one douchebag got sentenced to five-hundred hours of community service." Stiles' grin became mean. "My dad's great friends with the county judge." 

Erica brightened like the sun. "You're scary, Batman." 

"Just doing my part, Catwoman," Stiles retorted and winked. 

oOo

A few days later Stiles wished that Erica hadn't gotten so daring, so fast. Sure, climbing the wall during gym was fun and he wanted her to have as much fun as possible, but she was seriously not fit enough to go all the way up. 

Against his better judgement, Coach Finstock let her go, probably wanting her to have at least some sense of achievement during his class which she mostly had to sit out due to her condition. Jackson's sneers weren't helping, only egging Erica on. 

If it had only been her tiring halfway up, it wouldn't have been a big deal at all. A sudden seizure, however, was a whole different kettle of fish, scaring Stiles with how strongly it was affecting the girl. 

At least, Stiles thought with a grimace as he caught her weight as she lost her footing, she had the harness on. And thank fuck for Ice Rink Boyd, who quick-wittedly pushed forward and grabbed the rope, helping Stiles letting Erica down easy. 

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Stiles muttered under his breath as he caught and laid her down gently, checking her vitals. It wasn't great, Erica's eyes were rolling back in her head, and she was wheezing. Cursing, Stiles opened the constricting harness so she could at least breathe freely. "Someone call an ambulance!" 

"Greenberg! My phone!" Finstock yelled. A second later, he was shouting at someone on the hotline. 

"Boyd, get me a blanket," Stiles snapped and the large, black teen went without protest. 

The other students retreated, allowing the three teens and the coach enough room for first aid, but their whispers were still loud, grating on Stiles' nerves. The seizure was a bad one; it took Erica ages to stop convulsing, although she did stop before the paramedics burst into the gym. 

"B-batman," Erica managed to whimper, reaching for Stiles' hand as she was loaded onto a gourney. 

"I'm here, Catwoman," Stiles said as calmly as he could while his heart was trying to burst out of his chest. "They're getting you to the hospital now, don't worry. You'll be fine." He smoothed some hair out of her face. "Seems like your claws weren't strong enough yet, though." 

"They'll never be strong enough," she whispered, eyes brimming with humiliated tears. 

"We need to go," one paramedic said, fixing the blanket more firmly around Erica's body. "You can visit tomorrow. Clear the way!" 

And with that, Erica was gone and the class over. 

**End of part 7**


	8. Chapter 8

**Part 8**

Visits to the hospital were depressing. Ever since Stiles' mother had died, going there had been a trial for him, no matter how benign the reason was. Isaac was no different, although his reasons were even more personal, in a very physical sense. 

"My dad had to get me here when he hit me too hard," the blond boy murmured, not looking at Stiles. The small gift basket in his hand creaked a little as his claws appeared and vanished again without him really noticing. "He broke my arm, once. All the way here he threatened me with worse if I said anything to the staff." 

"Dude, I'm so sorry," Stiles replied, just as quietly. He smiled tensely at a few of the nurses who still knew him from way back. "Thank fuck he's in prison now." 

"Yeah." Isaac grimaced. "I wish I could just forget him, you know?" 

"God, me too." Stiles pointed at a door ahead. "There it is." 

  
They knocked and entered the little room - a single to keep Erica away from any and all triggering input, as a room with more patients was a relapse just waiting to happen. 

  
"Hey, Catwoman!" Stiles called, stepping up to the bed and offering Erica the flowers he'd gotten with a flourish. "Beautiful flowers for a beautiful lady." 

  
"They're really beautiful," Erica said, smiling. "Thanks for coming to see me. You just missed my parents." 

  
Isaac shuffled closer, awkwardly holding out the gift basket. "If it's too much having us here we can come back later." 

  
"Oh, no, please don't go. I like having visitors. My parents are always worrying, it'll be good to just talk." Erica smelled the flowers and hummed happily. "Can you put them in a vase, Stiles? The nurse said I shouldn't be out and about too much, yet." 

  
"No problemo." Stiles took the flowers back and left the room in search of a vase. He still knew where everything was and was back in less than three minutes. "Where should I put them?" 

  
Erica pointed to the small table in the room. "Over there would be nice." 

  
Stiles grinned, pointing at the single peony in a slender vase someone had obviously brought with them. "Your bedside table is already occupied, I see." 

  
"Boyd was here before school," Erica told them, looking as bemused as Stiles felt. "He didn't say much, but I guess he felt bad for me." 

  
"It's nice," Isaac offered, eyeing the pink flower speculatively. 

  
Stiles finished arranging the flowers and then plopped down on the foot of Erica's bed. "So, what's the verdict? When can you get out of here?" 

  
"I'll have to stay for a few days," Erica admitted. "That seizure was bad." She looked down, her hands clenching in the comforter over her lap. "My parents are thinking about homeschooling me until graduation." 

  
"What?" Isaac said. "For real?" 

  
"I don't want to," Erica said, eyes shining with tears. "That last one wasn't even anyone's fault. I just want to be _normal_." 

  
"Hey, I know," Stiles hushed her, coming to sit by her side and stroking her hair. "If I could, I'd cure you today." 

Isaac gave him a warning glare. 

  
"I'd do anything," Erica sniffed, laying her head against Stiles' shoulder. "Being sick sucks so much balls." 

  
oOo

  
"You can't be serious, Stiles," Isaac said on the way to Peter's apartment. "Erica?" 

"If anyone needs a gift like that, it's her," Stiles answered. "Look, I won't do anything without Peter's and your approval. I _promise_. But I have to at least ask. She's miserable, man." 

Isaac scowled but relaxed a little. "Fine." 

Twenty minutes later Isaac let them into the apartment. The sounds and smells of cooking greeted them, lending the huge apartment a decidedly lived-in feel. 

"Hello Stiles, coming over for dinner?" Peter asked a moment later as he came to the entrance, feet bare and a dish towel slung over one shoulder. Casually he scented Isaac, who returned the gesture eagerly before brushing a hand along Stiles' arm in greeting. "Shoes off." 

Stiles huffed but toed off his worn out sneakers. "Whatever you're cooking smells good." 

"Oh, it's nothing complicated," Peter said, turning and sauntering back to the stove. "Just salmon, pan-seared green asparagus, gnocchi, and a hollandaise." 

"You're living the life, eh, Isaac?" Stiles smirked. "Lucky you." 

"I can't complain," Isaac smirked back. 

"Now, to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?" Peter asked. "Shouldn't you be home and study for your finals?" 

"In a bit," Stiles replied, fidgeting a little. Looking so deceptively domestic, Peter was really getting his heart rate up in a vague, creeping sort of way. It wasn't even _unpleasant_ , which set him even more on edge. "But I wanted to talk to you about something first. If it's a bad time, it'll keep, though." 

Peter tossed the asparagus in its huge iron cast pan, making it sizzle and release a vaguely lemony scent in the already richly smelling air. "Nonsense, you're here already. Help Isaac set the table, I've made enough to feed an extra human." 

Stiles decided that the offer was too good to pass, for several reasons. First of all, it did smell amazing, and second of all, a full Peter would probably react less irascibly if he didn't like what Stiles had to say. 

The food was so good, in fact, that Stiles managed to keep his mouth largely shut until after the last spoonful of tiramisu was eaten. 

"That," he said, throwing down his spoon, "was _amazing_. Too bad I asked Isaac to marry me first, because that's definitely propose-worthy." 

"You did what?" Peter asked pleasantly, setting down his napkin. 

"It was a joke," Isaac said with an eyeroll. "I drained some pain from the martial arts on Monday. His muscles were abnormally sore." 

"Mmh. I see." Peter's cool gaze remained fixed on Stiles, who was busy licking some cocoa dust from his lip. "You're playing fast and loose with your affections, Stiles, but it reassures me that you're committed, once you've offered them." 

"What?" Stiles asked, feeling a little offended. "You didn't think I would be? I'll have you know that Stilinski men get attached for life. Also, having a partner that can leech pain? That's some seriously hot shit." 

"I'll take the dishes away," Isaac said when Peter didn't reply, all intense and slightly murdery, and hastily cleared the table. 

"He's just shy," Stiles smirked, cackling when Isaac flipped him off. "You haven't shot me down yet, boo." 

"If you need it, it's a hard no, you dumbass," Isaac called. 

Stiles grabbed his chest and slumped a little. "Harsh." 

"What did you want to talk about, Stiles?" Peter asked, folding his hands. He'd have looked patient, if it weren't for his red eyes and slightly sharp fingernails. 

"Oh! Right-o. Well, Isaac and I went to visit our classmate today, Erica. I guess you know already that she's got epilepsy," Stiles began. He glanced over to the kitchen where Isaac was taking his sweet time loading the dishwasher. "It's pretty bad and she wants out. Sooo ..." He shrugged, suddenly insecure. "I thought, why not ask you whether you'd like another beta? I'm pretty sure that she'd be in." 

"You haven't talked to her about me or Isaac?" Peter asked, words coming off very clear and controlled. 

"Of course not, dude. It's your pack. Also, it wouldn't be fair to raise her hopes, and since I don't even know if illnesses like epilepsy can be cured, it was better to come to you first." Stiles bit his lip. " _Can_ it be cured?" 

Peter relaxed a little, finally, and leaned back in his chair. In the kitchen, the spacy coffee maker roared to life, the heady, bitter aroma of freshly brewed coffee filling the whole place a moment later. Even Stiles with his human nose could smell it just fine. 

"Personally, I have never seen it done," Peter said, grasping Isaac's arm in thanks for a second when the teen placed a cup of espresso in front of him. "But I don't see why it shouldn't work. McCall got rid of his asthma after all, and that's a chronic illness as well." 

"Could you maybe ask around?" Stiles asked. "If you even want another beta, that is. You said you wanted to expand the pack and I just assumed you were ready for it, although with the Argents in town and Allison's bitch mom setting herself up at school-" 

"It's fine, Stiles," Peter interrupted him. "You did well, talking to me first. Let's keep it that way, hm?" 

"Of course." Stiles took a breath and forced himself to order his bouncing thoughts. 

"What do you think, Isaac?" Peter asked, not bothering to turn around. "Would Erica be a good fit?"

The coffee maker roared to life again, spitting out two more cups of coffee. Isaac brought two cortados over, his body language wary. 

"Well, she's nice enough, I guess," Isaac admitted. "But she's not like me." He frowned at his coffee. "Her parents really love her. She'd have to hide it from them because there's no way they'd let her leave to live with someone else. Plus, I think she'd be ... cocky, if she got suddenly better." 

"Cocky?" Peter asked, raising an eyebrow while daintily mixing a teaspoon of sugar into his espresso. "How so?" 

"She's ... limited right now," Isaac explained. "Insecure because of the epilepsy. There's not much she can do, but she _wants_."

"Is that your impression as well, Stiles?" Peter asked. 

And Stiles couldn't in good conscience lie and deny it. "Yeah, I guess so. She wants out, have a life. She said normal, and I guess it wouldn't be that as a werewolf, but neither would it get much better if she stayed the way she is. Of the two evils, she'd probably choose the bite." 

"I agree." Peter slurped down his coffee. "Right now, neither of you know her well enough, however. I suggest that you remedy that over the next days and weeks. Stiles will open a file about her, and Isaac, you'll scope out other possibilities among the students. If I turn her without being able to find out how the bite will affect her epilepsy, I'll need someone to buddy up with her, at least for as long as McCall is making a nuisance of himself." 

"Okay," Isaac said quietly. 

Stiles was impressed, even if he didn't like Isaac's quietness. "You're really thinking of everything. I wouldn't have considered that."

  
"I try," Peter replied modestly. "Was there anything else?" 

Stiles felt the burning need to ask about Lydia but after one warning look from Isaac he smothered the urge and smiled brightly. "Nope. It's all good. Thanks for dinner, it was fantastic." To relieve the other teen's suffering, Stiles guzzled down his frankly addicting cortado and got up. "I should go home now, my homework awaits." 

  
"I'll show you out," Isaac muttered and nearly shoved Stiles towards the door.

Peter, the asshole, stayed seated and watched Stiles struggle into his shoes with great interest. "Goodnight, Stiles. Sweet dreams." 

Cursing, Stiles only just managed to not fall flat on his face after Isaac's none too gentle push out the door. 

"Night!" he chirped back, flailing out and catching Isaac's neck with his palm for an obnoxious rub. "Bye, _pup_." 

  
"I hate you. Don't let McCall maim you on the way home," Isaac growled and slammed the door in Stiles' face.

oOo

The universe must have decided that it hated Stiles, because only a few days later Allison's grandfather was strolling through the school halls, looking at everyone and everything with a sense of appropriation that set Stiles' teeth on edge. 

  
"I hate that guy," Stiles said to Isaac during lunch break. They'd camped out at Boyd's out of the way table to hide from both Gerard Argent and Scott. "He's at the top of the creep chain." 

  
"I heard that he's going to be our new headmaster," Erica supplied, stealing one of Isaac's strawberries. "And yes, he's super creepy." 

  
Boyd was shamelessly listening in on their conversation, although he, as usual, had nothing to say.

"I wonder how this is even allowed, two complete strangers setting up shop in the high school and practically taking it over," Stiles continued. He lowered his voice. "That family deals with arms, that's not people parents usually want to educate their kids." 

"You could talk to your dad about it," Erica offered. "He could at least make sure there's no chance of them bringing weapons in here." 

  
"It's more than that. I'm worried about them bringing their _ideas_ in here," Stiles muttered, sending Allison a glare when she looked over. "Anyway, I was wondering whether you'd like to do something this weekend?" 

  
"Like what?" Isaac asked. 

  
Stiles turned to Boyd and smiled winningly. "I thought about visiting the ice rink after hours. It won't be half as pretty without the light show, but I thought Erica might like it anyway." 

  
"It's been years since I've gone ice skating," she murmured. "I'd be super bad at it." 

  
"I'm no champion either, but it might be fun," Stiles wheedled. "That is, if it's even possible, time-wise." 

  
Boyd halted his eating when all three teens stared at him. "That'd be fifty for an hour, Stilinski. Eight on Sunday. Bring your own skates. " 

  
"Fine. I'll pay at the door." 

They sealed the deal with a nod and soon afterwards, they left the cafeteria for their afternoon classes. 

oOo

  
Stiles saw no point in dragging things out. Gerard Argent was dangerous and he wanted him gone _yesterday_. Since any and all information about the family had to be legit for his dad to be able to do something with it, sending someone to the house for some snooping was out, but Stiles was confident that he could build a case for his father without the pack's help. 

"What are you doing?" Derek asked, having come through the window late at night like the big creep he still was. He didn't mention Stiles' seriously cool handwave action that had broken the mountain ash line on his windowsill - and had repaired it as soon as the werewolf had gone through. "You're cyber-stalking Argent Arms?" 

"They're invading my high school so I'm looking for something my dad can throw at them," Stiles said without looking away from his computer screen. 

"What? Who is invading?" 

"Allison's mom and super-gross grandfather," Stiles said, looking up at Derek's quiet choke. "Yeah, I know, it's the worst sort of surprise, hence my google-fu." He wiggled his fingers for emphasis. "Peter told me how very not good a human being Gerard is." 

"He really isn't. Any luck so far?" Derek asked, looking over Stiles' shoulder, brows down in a fearsome scowl. 

"It's slow-going," Stiles admitted. "Their front is squeaky clean, of course. Government contractors have to be above reproach, but I've just started. If they send some of their goons onto school property, I'll find out who they are and let my dad background-check them so hard their grandkids will still feel it. I'll find any and all shady behaviour, even if I have to pay Danny to write me a program for a more efficient search." 

"Is that the guy you told my name was Miguel?" Derek asked. His hazel eyes wandered from the screen to Stiles and bored into the boy. 

"About that ..." Stiles rolled his chair back a little and began to fidget. "Sorry to have pimped you out like that, but it was the fastest way to get Danny to help me. He doesn't really need money, and he doesn't like me enough to do shit like that for free. Anyway, now that I know what that bitch did to you ... yeah, it's not gonna happen again." 

Derek kept staring. 

"I swear?" Stiles tried. "On my mom's grave, even, if I have to. And I'll get Häagen Dazs ice cream for when we hang out next time? A whole pint, just for you." 

After some more staring, Derek growled, "Deal. I want strawberry cheesecake." 

Relieved, Stiles grinned. "You got it. By the way, what are you doing here? Something wrong in the preserve?" 

"No." Derek drew back and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Just ... passing through. Chasing off dumb teenage werewolves who have no business being in the neighbourhood." 

"Aw, thanks." Stiles waved in the vague direction of his bed. "Get comfy or whatever if you're not on the run, I'll be at this for a while yet. If you want something to drink, you know where everything is." 

"I didn't mean to stay," Derek protested. 

"Mmh." Stiles clicked on a promising link and whistled. "If you do go to the kitchen, get me a root beer, yeah?" 

Without waiting to see what the werewolf would do, Stiles saved the article in a folder and clicked back for the next link in his list. It was easy to get lost in the search again, now that he'd unearthed some very interesting stuff from several years back. He did register when his TV switched on and a bottle of chilled root beer appeared next to his elbow, but other than that Derek was remarkably unobtrusive. 

The only downside was that Derek apparently was a huge mother hen, what with him cutting Stiles' internet connection at one in the morning and glaring at him until he huffily went into the bathroom and then into bed. 

He just couldn't win with werewolves.   
  
  


**End of part 8**


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a while to write, not because of writer's block, per se, but because I needed some time to consider all the directions this story could go. There are certain fixed events I want to happen, but how to get there is very much undecided. It's more fun that way for me, to be honest. So don't be too worried when updates are slower in coming; it's just me, waffling a little and having way too much fun imagining all the possibilities. :)

**Part 9**

  
  


Sunday came and Erica, still a little wary after her seizure, was nonetheless thrilled to skulk around the back entrance of the ice rink like a little delinquent. 

“This is so exciting,” she told Boyd as he unlocked the door for them and pocketed the money. “We couldn’t find skates in my size, but Stiles’ old ones fit well enough.” 

Boyd stared at her for a second. “You’re not wearing those on my watch. I’ll get you some in your size.” 

He led them to the ice rink, told them to sit, and vanished for a few minutes. 

“He’s not big on talking, is he?” Erica asked, swinging her feet and looking around like a kid in a candy store. “Boy, it’s chilly in here.” 

“I told you to dress warmly,” Stiles said. “Do you need gloves? I packed extra.” 

“Nah, I’m good for now.” Erica grinned. “I can’t believe I’m doing something illegal. One thing to strike off my bucket list, yay!” 

Isaac, who was playing with his phone, muttered, “Cute,” completely unfazed by Stiles’ elbow to his side. 

Soon enough, Boyd was back with skates in Erica’s size. Proving how little he trusted Stiles to take care of anything, he proceeded to kneel down and put the shoes right onto Erica’s feet, explaining concisely what she had to do to make sure they sat tightly. 

“You certain you can keep her on her feet, Stilinski?” Boyd asked gruffly. “I just polished the ice; it’s very slick.” 

Stiles smirked a little. “I’m no proficient. What about you, Isaac?” 

“Are you kidding me? I’ll be glad not to break an arm,” the teen shot back, not even looking like he was kidding. 

Erica’s face fell a little. “Does that mean you won’t let me get onto the ice?” 

Boyd turned his judgy glare from Isaac to her. “You need someone close by, in case you fall.” 

“Why don’t _you_ show her the ropes?” Stiles asked oh so innocently. “Isaac and I will manage, somehow, but you could show her that people can actually look graceful.” 

Isaac’s left eye was twitching a little, but he kept his mouth shut. Good puppy. 

They boys went first, Stiles making sure that they weren’t paying Boyd and Erica any mind as they wobbled onto the ice, cursing and laughing. 

“I hate you for this, Stiles,” Isaac complained as he carefully moved forward. “I already hate rollerblades, but this is so much worse.” 

“At least you’ll heal if you fall and break something,” Stiles retorted, zooming past the other boy and turning inelegantly. 

“Doesn’t mean it won’t hurt, you asshole.” Isaac reached out, snagged Stiles by his jacket, and caused them both to flail around dangerously. “You better keep me upright, or I’m taking you down with me.” 

“Oooh, kinky.” Stiles swatted Isaac’s hands away and clasped his hand firmly around his forearm. “Now keep your … Jesus, how many limbs do you have?! … Keep still, dammit!” 

Shrieking, they both went down, Stiles landing on Isaac and not feeling an ounce of guilt for it. 

In front of them, Boyd was tugging Erica along, coaxing her carefully with his huge hands closed around hers. 

“I hate you,” Isaac groaned. 

“Maybe, but it’s for a good cause,” Stiles stage-whispered. “Just look how much fun Erica’s having.” 

“You could’ve just set her up with Boyd.” Annoyed, Isaac pushed Stiles off of him and carefully tried to get back on his feet. 

“Where would’ve been the fun in that?” Stiles hopped up, all pretense of being a clumsy clown gone, dusted the ice off his jeans and then steadied Isaac. “How about two laps ‘round the rink and then I’ll treat you to my very special hot chocolate? I even brought marshmallows.” 

“It’d better be worth it,” Isaac grunted, fingers digging into Stiles’ arm. “And I want the cinnamon rolls you packed, too.” 

oOo 

School was quickly becoming a nightmare. As a student on the accelerated track, Stiles naturally came to the new principal’s attention, and close up the old man was even more creepy than from afar. 

Probably thanks to Allison and Kate’s blabbing, there was a lot of innuendo during their talk, Gerard pressuring Stiles with veiled and not so veiled threats to tell him what had happened after the alpha had run. 

Stiles, mean little shit that he was, covertly recorded the whole conversation and did his absolute best to play dumb. He was exceptionally good at that, especially when he didn’t exaggerate, like he would when he wanted to rile someone up. 

He definitely didn’t want to rile Gerard up without any backup in the vicinity. 

In the end, their allotted time was up with Gerard being visibly frustrated due to all the non-answers and talking around Stiles had bombarded him with. 

“We’ll meet again to talk further about your … education,” Gerard threatened as his secretary opened the door to escort the next appointment in. A brittle smile barely covered the open hostility on his lined face. “Have a good day, Stiles.” 

Stiles saluted him and sauntered out, already busy sending the recording to both his father and Peter. 

oOo

“Unfortunately it was inevitable that he’d hone in on you,” Peter said that night. He’d chosen not to come personally, both because Argent probably had eyes on the house now, and because he was amused by his nephew’s rather regular visits and didn’t want to spook him. “Allison was bound to tell him who she had contact with that night. Gerard is not someone who’ll accept secrets from his underlings.” 

“I know. He wasn’t even subtle about it. But hey! On the flip side, my dad now has ample material to have a _really_ close look at the guy, what with him threatening a student unprovoked and unrelated to school business,” Stiles smirked. “He’s certainly motivated.” 

Derek, who had indeed come by again to steal all the leftovers of the Stilinskis' taco extravaganza that evening, scowled at the thick history book in his lap. “I don’t like that he’s so openly hostile.” 

“None of us do,” Peter said mildly. “And I like it even less that the sheriff has heard his unhinged ramblings. He’ll certainly be curious to what good old Gerard was alluding to.” 

“I still don’t want my dad to know,” Stiles said, grimacing. “But I guess it’d hurt more to leave him unaware now.” 

“He’s in danger either way,” Peter agreed, “and for your sake I’m actually sorry. Such talks are never pleasant. However, being forewarned is forearmed, and the knowledge about the supernatural and the hunters might very well prod him to ask his contacts for specific information or favours.” 

He was smug, Stiles could tell. “That’s all fine and dandy where Gerard is concerned, but did I tell you that our ex-principal is still missing?” 

“How do you know?” Derek asked, giving up on the book and setting it aside. 

“Weeell, he left apropos of nothing, smack in the middle of the school year for one,” Stiles said, counting down one finger. “That’s super unusual, considering the huge stick he has up his ass. Then there’s miraculously a replacement right there, with all the necessary credentials for our state,” he ticked down another finger, “and lastly, there immediately was a forwarding address, which is very fishy when someone decides on a spontaneous sabbatical and tells people via email that he’s just going with the wind for a while, don’t you think?” 

“My, my, you’re just a little treasure trove of skills, aren’t you?” Peter purred. “Where is the man now?” 

“No idea, but I suspect that he’s been bought off at the very least. Maybe he’s in Florida, living the life, or trying to count cards in Vegas.” Stiles spun on his chair, staring at the ceiling as he ordered his thoughts. “I might have heard that he had a little gambling addiction going, but nothing too major. Certainly nothing that would make him throw his life away like this.” 

“Alright, those are good points. Tell your father,” Peter ordered. “Point him in the right direction. I’ll also see whether I can find him and call it in.” 

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Stiles asked, biting the end of his pencil. “Pretty sure he’ll have guards, if he’s still in Beacon Hills-”

“And alive,” Derek interjected darkly. 

Stiles halted his spinning and stared at Derek. “Right. I forgot that hunters do shit like that. If the guy isn’t in the area anymore, you won’t take Isaac with you, or will you?” 

“Don’t be stupid, he’s not on anyone’s radar right now and I’d like to keep it that way. I won’t try to track your principal out of state in any case; it’s not worth the effort,” Peter returned. “Derek will have an eye on you in the meantime. _Won’t you_ , nephew?” 

Derek’s scowl was so fierce that Stiles feared for the structural integrity of the man’s skull. “I’m not your beta, Peter.” 

“You could be,” Peter said, putting it out there so bluntly that Derek froze and Stiles’ breath caught in sympathy. “Think about it as long as you want, but you’ll have to agree that leaving my boys alone would be irresponsible.” 

“You could not go looking for that man,” Derek growled. 

“And rob the sheriff of a prime opportunity to get our mortal enemies off our land?” Peter countered. “I think not. Watch over them and don’t get killed.” There was a menacing pause before he added, “Please.” 

Derek ground his teeth while at the same time executing an impressive eye roll. “Fine. But I won’t run after your failed experiment.” 

“Scott McCall is of no concern to me,” Peter said sharply. “What you do in your free time is up to you. Personally, I wouldn’t put in the effort, but you do you, nephew.” 

“Ouch,” Stiles winced, feeling sorry for Scott even if he didn’t like him very much right now. “Speaking of which, what do I do with him if he actually gets around to getting through Isaac?” 

“Pray.” 

Stiles joined Derek in his eye rolling, not even truly insulted. “That’s a given, dude. What I meant was that I’m not up to killing him, even if he’s a bit batshit at the moment, and I wouldn’t want Isaac to be forced to do that either.” 

“Then you’d better learn fast how to incapacitate a werewolf, Stiles,” Peter said. “For all his faults, Derek is a capable teacher. If he’s hanging around, he can make himself useful.” 

“Uncle Peter-” Derek protested, snapping his mouth shut when an even more sinister growl came through the phone. “ _Fine_.” 

On that high note, Peter ended the call and Derek’s angry glare went from Stiles’ phone to the boy himself. 

“I’ll teach you everything,” Derek said ominously. “Every weak spot on our bodies, every natural weakness against poisons and magic.” 

“Uh, great,” Stiles stuttered. 

Derek’s stare intensified. “I expect you to use them against Peter when you have to.” 

“When, not if?” Stiles asked, throat getting a little tight with anxiety. 

“Yes.” Derek never wavered in his staring. “He’s not right in the head. It’s not his fault, I get that now, but it’s still a fact. You need to be able to protect yourself.” 

“Okay.” Stiles scrabbled for a writing pad and a pen. “I’m all ears, big guy.” 

“No,” Derek shook his head. “No writing it down when anybody could break in and find your notes. We’ll meet away from here and train. Bring your friend.” 

“As a guinea pig?” Stiles asked, preparing to defend Isaac with a rousing speech about friendship and unnecessary sacrifice if need be. 

“No, you dumbass. Because a lot of those tricks could benefit him too,” Derek replied, looking at Stiles as if he were a little stupid. “He’s newly turned and therefore on the lowest rung of the pecking order. He needs to get good, fast, or risk being taken out by the first challenger that crosses his path. It doesn’t have to be another werewolf, you know. Even a human could take him out relatively easily if they know where to hit him.” 

“Right. Say, did your parents send you to martial arts class too when you were young?” Stiles asked. “Or is it usually all about fangs and claws and brute force?” 

Derek relaxed a little at the question. “It’s usually the latter. Most werewolves don’t have the patience for years of martial arts training. Mostly they learn through play fighting with their packs and the occasional outside visitor.” 

“I guess it’s different for bitten werewolves,” Stiles said. 

“Yes. Bitten wolves are far more likely to have that advantage because they’ll have begun or even finished their training before the bite,” Derek agreed. “It’s a very good skill to have. The faster reflexes alone will be a boon in a fight against a were.” 

“Why do I get the feeling that martial arts alone won’t be enough?” Stiles idly played with the pencil in his hands. “Are we talking knife fighting and stuff? Because I think my dad would blow a gasket if I got caught carrying an illegal gun.” 

Derek cocked his head and listened intently for a moment before relaxing again. “A gun would be practical, but it’s not feasible at the moment. Maybe once you’ve turned eighteen and are allowed to get a licence for carrying a concealed weapon.” 

“My dad wants me to have one anyway,” Stiles said. “It’s one of the few advantages of being a sheriff’s kid.” 

“Knife fighting is a very good idea, but we’ll start with a tactical pen,” Derek said. “Not only can it act as a stab weapon, you can also taint it with wolfsbane, which will give you a fairly big advantage over a were.” He then looked at the window. “You also seem quite adept at using mountain ash.” 

Stiles smiled, pleased that Derek had noticed after all. “It’s a surprise, but I guess it’s handy against Scott. I always carry some with me.” 

“Good. Keep that up, and do try to get proficient at throwing closed circles. It might save you a world of hurt.” 

“Literally, ugh.” Stiles turned to his laptop and entered ‘tactical pen’ into the Amazon search engine. “Huh, they’re not even expensive.” 

“Get one for Isaac as well,” Derek instructed. “And several cans of pepper spray. That stuff hurts like a bitch and there’s not much our healing can do against it while it’s in our faces.” 

“Lots of mace, gotcha.” Stiles clicked a couple times more and then sat back with his hands behind his head. “I probably should be worried about how easy it is to get potentially lethal weapons on the internet, but right now I’ll just bask in my relief.” 

A corner of Derek’s mouth twitched up. “You can bask when you know how not to spray or stab yourself.” 

“Har. My dad did teach me a thing or five, you know,” Stiles pouted. 

_Such as?_ , Derek’s raised eyebrows asked challengingly. 

Smirking, challenge accepted, Stiles opened one of his desk drawers and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. Seeing how unimpressed Derek was, Stiles proceeded to snap them on, cinching them tightly enough so he definitely couldn’t wiggle out of them. He then nestled around with his watch, getting the tiny lockpick loose his dad had gotten him years ago. Making a show of it, Stiles worked on the lock until the handcuff sprang free. Even with all the preening, it still hadn't taken him longer than a moment.

“Tadaa, sourwolf!” he crowed, raising his free hands victoriously. 

“That,” Derek said, very obviously impressed now, “is _very_ useful. Can you do that for larger cuffs as well?” 

Stiles’ grin broadened and he got up to get his tool chest out of his closet. He and Derek would have a _whale_ of a time after all, and he could only imagine Isaac’s gobsmacked puppy face when he learned of this. 

  
  


**End of part 9**


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little longer than usual, so there wasn't time to go over it one more time. I'll correct typos and other mistakes as I find them later. 
> 
> Have fun and stay safe!

**Part 10**

  
  


The next evening, Stiles found a package on the step of his house’s backdoor. In it he discovered a burner phone with three pre-programmed numbers, a whole jar of mountain ash, and several smaller jars of dried and powdered wolfsbane. Someone had drawn little anti-wolf signs onto the white labels and written the Latin names of the plants underneath. 

Taking this in stride wasn’t a hardship at all. If anything, Stiles felt oddly comforted and taken seriously, even if it meant that he had to order a second tool chest for the supernatural murder stuff. He was confident that more things would find their way into it as time went on. 

_Thanks for the gift_ , Stiles texted with the new phone. _Can you get me seeds for wolfsbane plants? I could plant them in our garden, get a little supply going._

_You’re welcome, and I’m already working on it. I managed to catch your principal’s scent, so I’ll leave town tonight. Stay safe and hit attackers hard if you have to. That includes McCall. I won’t lose you to his gormless machinations._

_I have no plans of dying anytime soon_ , Stiles shot back. _Amazon should deliver stuff tomorrow._

_In the future, tell me what you need and I’ll take care of it. Less of a history to follow that way_ , Peter wrote. 

_Will do, almost-Alpha mine_. 

Stiles put the phone somewhere his dad wouldn’t immediately find it and returned to the screen of his laptop. His chemistry homework was mocking him - not because it was so hard, but because Harris had given him an assignment that was nowhere near close to the one everyone else had received. Stiles had sent it to Lydia on a lark, just to see what would happen, but he harboured little hope that she’d actually respond. 

Far more promising was his bothering of Erica via messenger. The girl was positively bubbly, given someone friendly to actually spend time with, and she had no qualms at all about telling Stiles _all_ about herself at the slightest provocation. 

Stiles felt a little guilty about using their chat to fill in his profile of her, but he sincerely hoped that it was all for a good cause. He could imagine Erica as a werewolf, all confident and bright and a good friend and packmate to their little group. While he had no idea how to float that idea by her yet, he was convinced that it’d come in time. Unlike Boyd, Erica was a chatterbox and it would probably be easy to nudge a talk about superheroes or mythology in the right direction. 

Another message pinged and tore Stiles out of his musings. It was from Jackson, of all people. 

_Yo, Stilinski. Got time 2 talk?_

Stiles frowned, tapping his smartphone against his chin before replying, _What do u want?_

_I thought about stuff n wanna talk_

“What,” Stiles asked flatly. _If it’s about Lydia, go to Danny._

_It’s not just about her._

Facepalming, Stiles rolled his eyes heavenward and prayed for patience. _M not gonna give u advice on how 2 win her back, jackass._

_Don need ur help w/that_ , Jackson sent back almost immediately. _The other stuff._

“Fuck you,” Stiles groaned, knowing that Jackson wouldn’t give up until he’d gotten this talk. Better to just get it over with, like ripping off a particularly large and sticky band aid. _Move ur ass over here, m not gonna do house calls for douchebags._

Jackson didn’t reply, but Stiles knew how long the teen would need to drive and grudgingly cleared off his school books from the bed so Jackson would have somewhere to sit. 

Sure enough, ten minutes later there was a knock on the door. 

To Stiles’ surprise, Jackson looked a little unsure of his welcome, and he was carrying a six pack of some fancy microbrew which he offered in lieu of a greeting. 

“Come in,” Stiles said, accepting the bribe. “You want something to drink?” 

“Water if you’ve got bottled,” Jackson muttered. He wiped his hands on his jacket and looked around nervously. 

“My dad isn’t here, but we should make sure people can’t listen in,” Stiles said as he filled a tall glass of water. Upstairs, he switched on some obnoxiously eclectic music and bade Jackson sit on the bed. “You wanna talk about werewolves, right?” 

“I … yes.” Jackson took a large gulp of his water and shuffled his feet. “But it’s not because I want to juice myself up.” 

Stiles’ eyebrows rose judgingly at that and he crossed his arms. 

“I mean it,” Jackson insisted. “Not just for that, anyway. I … I thought about what you said about Lyds, and how I was a douche for leaving her hanging.” 

Stiles deflated a little. “Well … good. So you want her back?” 

The expression of Jackson’s face was equal parts terrified and resolved. “I … I think I do. But not …” He exhaled helplessly. “Look, she got fucking hurt on my watch, okay? I was freaking _useless_ , and I need to … I gotta be better, I need to be able to protect her or it just won’t work. She deserves better.” 

“She does,” Stiles agreed. “But it’s a terrible idea to change yourself for another person.” 

“You said-” 

“I said that she needs you, and that’s true,” Stiles interrupted him. “But Jackson, you’re talking about becoming a werewolf _for her_.” 

“That’s the whole point,” Jackson said, bewildered. “I was selfish before, but now I wanna do the right thing. For someone else for once.” 

“It’s still no good,” Stiles huffed. “Man, I get that you wanna be better for her, and probably your friends as well, and that’s great. But this werewolf business is _super_ personal. Like, it’ll turn your whole life on its head. It’s not just super strength and speed and healing and whatever, it means something to the person who’s gonna turn you, too.” 

“And what’s that?” Jackson asked, voice tight. He clutched his water glass tightly as if anchoring himself to it. 

“Dude, you’re thinking about wanting to become a _werewolf_. Werewolves build packs, do you get that. Any alpha who bites you would want you in their pack. Meaning, they’ll want your time, your energy, even your money to support the pack. It’s like joining a family, or a cult, I suppose. You need to be real sure that you want that.” 

“I don’t need a pack,” Jackson said, although he sounded shaken. “I just need Lydia and Danny.” 

“Yeah, no, it’s not gonna work like that,” Stiles informed him. “You’ll need the stability, and even want it. Werewolves don’t do well alone.” To drive the point home that the bite wasn’t just something people should get on a whim, he added, “Also, there’s more hunters out there, not just Allison’s family. Her dad is even one of the okay-ish ones, if you can believe it.” 

Jackson blanched. 

“Exactly,” Stiles continued, merciless. “That shit’s real and you’d have to live with it wherever you go.” 

“I … I need to think about this,” Jackson rasped, quickly downing the rest of his water. “Shit, Stilinski. How do you know so much about this?” 

“I ask questions,” Stiles said simply. 

Jackson looked at him. “You know the werewolf.” 

“Yep.” Stiles swivelled a little in his chair. “And no, I won’t introduce you until you’ve gotten your shit at least a little together.” When Jackson wanted to protest, Stiles said, “I don’t mean your issues with Lydia. I mean all of your issues, because you have them by the boatload, dude.” 

And no, Jackson did _not_ like being reminded of that. “Fuck you. As if you’re the picture of mental health, Stilinski.” 

“I know I’m not,” Stiles said and shrugged. “But unlike you I haven’t got an inferiority complex the size of the Grand Canyon. You don’t honestly think that suddenly having special powers will make all of that go away, do you?” 

“You still are a neurotic spaz,” Jackson hissed. “Your issues have issues.” 

Stiles began to regret bringing it up, but he had agreed to this talk, and he would see it through, even if it smarted and would probably cost him a few tears later. 

“I’m not gonna deny that,” he said, voice a little rough now, too. “But I’m aware, okay. You’re … not. Therefore, therapy.” 

“Even if I wanted to go, my parents would never spring for it,” Jackson huffed. 

“Have you asked them?” Stiles challenged. “Also, if your clothing and stuff are any indication, they’re giving you boatloads of money. You can afford counselling with that, they don’t even have to know about it.” 

“It’s not that easy, okay!” Jackson shouted, getting to his feet. “Jesus fucking Christ, Stiles!” 

Stiles stared at him, surprised at the outburst. “‘course it isn’t,” he finally said. “Therapy sucks balls. I had to go after my mom died. My dad, too. It didn’t do a whole lot of good, but it did something.” He shrugged, suddenly embarrassed. “My dad would’ve probably drunk himself to death if he hadn’t had that.” 

Jackson rubbed a hand over his mouth. “Shit, really?” 

“He’s still a little liberal with the Jackes sometimes, but eh. We get by.” Stiles swallowed. “I wish he’d stop, though.” 

“Yeah, I get that.” Still standing, Jackson deflated a little. “I should go.” 

“Can you drive?” Stiles asked. 

Only then did Jackson seem to notice his slightly trembling fingers. “I … yeah. I guess so.” 

“You can wait a few minutes,” Stiles offered. “I prodded you pretty hard, it’d be shitty to throw you out now. We could play Mario Kart.” 

“I get Bowser,” Jackson said after a second’s thought, and that was that. 

oOo

“So, it’s my birthday soon,” Stiles began, setting a medium boiled egg next to his father’s coffee cup. 

“I know,” the man replied, lips twitching up in a small smile. 

“And I wondered whether I could have a few bucks to take my friends out. Bowling or something,” Stiles continued. 

“Friends?” The sheriff’s eyebrows lifted a fraction. “As in, plural?” 

“I have friends,” Stiles huffed. “It’s sort of new, but I’d really like to ask them.” 

The slightly amused expression vanished and regret settled on John’s lined face. “Not that I don’t want you to have fun, but it’d mean …” 

“No present,” Stiles finished for him, exhaling. “I know, dad. It’s okay. I don’t need more stuff, but I wanna have a good time with my friends. Would that be alright?” 

The sheriff reached out a hand and clapped Stiles’ shoulder, lingering there. “Of course that’d be alright. Fifty sound alright?” 

Mentally adding another fifty from his own savings, Stiles nodded. “You’re the best, daddio.” 

“Just one question,” and the man’s voice was way too casual for it to be just a question, “who are those friends of yours? Anyone I know?” 

“Er, Isaac you know, because you indented his dad, and Erica, the girl I visited at the hospital, and maybe even Boyd. He works at the ice rink.” Stiles nervously took a sip of his coffee. 

“Mmh.” John took his boiled egg and cracked the shell. “Scott might be sad to miss it.” 

“He and I are … at odds right now,” Stiles said carefully. “Not sure when it’ll blow over.” 

“I see.” The sheriff salted his egg and took a bite out of it. “Perfect, kid. You could win prizes with this.” 

“You wish,” Stiles joked weakly, but he grabbed his own egg and beheaded it with a hearty hit of his knife. “By the way, are there news on the evil school principal front yet?” 

“Not yet, but Scott’s father agreed to do a deep background check into the man and his immediate family,” John replied. “That’ll take some time. You stay safe by not meeting that man alone, be it at school or out of it, and I’d prefer if you’d avoid the rest of his family as well. I asked the county judge about a restraining order for Gerard, but he said that it’s not aggravated enough for it yet.” 

“He did sound like a lunatic,” Stiles agreed with a pout. 

“You sounded awfully composed during that interview,” his father said shrewdly. “Like you knew what Argent was alluding to. Any comments?” 

Stiles stiffened. “Not yet, but I’m … I’m working on it.” 

That seemed to surprise John and the eyebrows were back to climbing towards his hairline. “You are?” 

“I promise. Right now just isn’t a very good time.” Stiles stole the salt shaker right out of his father’s frozen fingers and salted his egg liberally. “Soon, yeah?” 

John cleared his throat and nodded once. “Soon. I’ll hold you to that.” 

oOo

Stiles hadn’t been this nervous in years, and yes, that included dealing with the newly turned Scott who wanted nothing more than to hurt him. He’d waffled for nearly an hour whether he wanted to print out actual invites. Just when he’d almost convinced himself that it’d be stupid and childish, he told himself to fuck it and do it anyway, because yolo and all that rot. 

Now, during lunch time, the cards were burning a hole in his pocket and sweat was collecting between his shoulder blades. 

“Man, what’s got your knickers in a twist?” Isaac complained, wrinkling his nose. “You stink of anxiety and McCall didn’t do anything so far.” 

“Sorry,” Stiles mumbled, trying to get his jiggling leg under control and failing miserably. He only relaxed a little when Erica joined them, her smile bright like she’d really been looking forward to sitting with them. 

Stiles wished he could put his faith in people that easily. 

Boyd sat down at the very end of the table not much later, and for a while they busied themselves with their food. Erica had a beautiful salad, Isaac had brought stew, and Boyd was stoically eating his way through the school’s mac and cheese that not even Stiles would touch with a ten foot pole. 

“Thank god it’s the weekend soon,” Erica said at one point. 

“It’s Wednesday,” Isaac snorted. “Your optimism is killing me, Erica.” 

She stuck out her tongue at him. “Only two more days.” 

“About that,” Stiles said and fumbled with the slightly bent cards. “Uh, we could go bowling, if you want. For my birthday.” 

“It’s your birthday!” Erica screeched. “Ohmigod! Is it today?” 

“No, calm down!” Stiles nearly choked in her hug. “It’s April 2nd, that’s still two weeks away.” 

“I’m coming,” Erica declared and gleefully accepted her invite. “Thank you! I love the sarcastic kitty.” 

Isaac checked the calendar on his phone. “I’ve nothing going on, so why not?” He smirked at the poodle on his card. “Classy, Stiles.” 

“I know.” Stiles bumped his shoulder against the other boy’s and then turned to Boyd, who sat three seats down and across from him. “How about you? You free that weekend?” 

Boyd raised his head and stared. _Hard_. “I’m not giving you a discount on the ice rink, Stilinski.” 

“Psh, my toes are still frozen,” Stiles snarked back. He waved the card enticingly. He’d chosen a really grumpy grizzly, just for Boyd. “You in now, or what?” 

Boyd stared a little longer. “Fine.” 

“Great. See you there.” Stiles flicked the invitation over the table and Boyd caught it with a perfectly executed tap of his fingers. 

Erica couldn’t stop smiling all through lunch, already excited for their little party. Stiles didn’t bother telling them not to bring presents; he was aware that their acquaintance was too new for that, and he only wanted their company anyway. 

On their way out of the cafeteria, Stiles caught Scott’s eye. The boy looked stricken and, for the first time in weeks, almost like the kid Stiles had grown up with and sort of loved to pieces. Then Allison was taking Scott’s hand and began leading him off to class, and the moment passed. 

_Well, it’s never that easy anyway_ , Stiles thought, although he wished that it were, at least every now and then. 

oOo 

Stiles took Isaac home in Peter’s absence. While Isaac was doing the werewolf thing and listening for unusual sounds in the interior of the jeep, Stiles pretended to flail around in his usual manner. He was covering up his usage of a bug finder his father had given him that morning, and he was doing quite well, considering that he was totally new at the holy-shit-I’m-in-an-actual-spy-situation. 

_Well, murderous-speciest-spy-situation, but semantics_ , Stiles thought when the jeep came up clean. 

He and Isaac still turned off their phones and took out the batteries, just to be on the safe side. 

“So, Peter’s gone and the full moon is on Saturday,” Stiles said once they’d left the parking lot. “How will you swing that? I thought the alpha was responsible for keeping you young wolves contained?” 

“He told Derek to watch over me,” Isaac said, calm as you please. “He’ll stay in the building with me and teach me some more stuff in the time I’m not a rabid monster.” 

“Hey, you’re not a monster. It’s just your first full moon,” Stiles comforted him. “I sort of wish I could be there, but my dad’s actually off duty that day and we got things to do.” 

Isaac glanced at Stiles with an expression that was nearly impossible to decipher. “Take some time to just hang out, too. The way you talk - or not talk, I guess - about him, you’re not doing that very often.” He raised his shoulders a little, making himself smaller in the process. “If things are okay enough between you for you to do that, of course.” 

“I love him,” Stiles said starkly. “Like crazy. Even if he’s still not okay from … from mom’s death.” He glanced back at Isaac for a moment but returned his gaze immediately to the road. “I’ll work on it. I’m not perfect either. Like, far from it.” 

“It’ll be okay,” Isaac murmured. “Peter’s right, you know. Your dad knowing all this supernatural stuff might actually help. At least you wouldn’t have to lie to him so much anymore.” 

“Yeah, he hates that.” Stiles sighed and drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. “We need to find a way to tell him without causing a heart attack.” 

Stiles stopped at a little park a couple blocks away from Peter’s building to let Isaac out. They hadn’t spotted any tails, but that didn’t mean there weren’t any, or that the Argents didn’t have the means to hack into the traffic surveillance system. It was terrifying if one was the one being followed. 

“Be careful,” Stiles told the other teen unnecessarily. 

Instead of bitching about it, Isaac nodded and even ran a hand down Stiles’ arm, scent marking him. “I will. I’ve got a couple routes mapped out for getting home. See you tomorrow.” 

“See ya,” Stiles returned, still feeling uneasy. “Text me later?” 

Isaac saluted him and then loped off into the park, where a small coffee booth was promising lattes with all kinds of syrup, and organic muffins. 

On his way home, Stiles decided that he’d smooth-talk a dozen GPS trackers out of his dad and get at least two on each of his favourite persons. 

Having those was turning out to be hard work! 

  
  


**End of part 10**


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are happening. Whee. :)
> 
> Also, I feel that I should mention that I borrowed the name for the town where Stiles and Isaac are having their martial arts class from Jilly James. I was lazy and I liked it, therefore: Sweetland. Sorry if that's jarring - I might go back and change it later, once I'm not so much in the flow.

**Part 11**

  
  


On Friday night, Stiles lured Derek with actual steak, baked potatoes the size of footballs, and a salad so colourful and rich it was enough to make angels weep. 

Really, the man stood no chance at all, especially when confronted with Stiles’ homemade herb sour cream and lemonade. 

“Not that I’m complaining,” Derek said after demolishing his second helping of potato and salad, “but what brought this on?” 

“Potentially traumatizing questioning,” Stiles said. “Cheesecake?” 

Flummoxed, Derek stared at Stiles, not even twitching when a whole third of the heavenly blueberry cheesecake from the bakery on Maine was placed in front of him. “What?” 

Stiles’ piece of cake was considerably smaller, and even that was almost too much after the feast they’d just gorged themselves on. There was hope that the cup of coffee Stiles had brewed to go with it would help with the fullness. “You heard right. I have questions about the hunters’ MO, especially when it comes to torture. I know that Kate - may she rest in hell - did a number on you.” 

Derek’s confusion vanished and his customary scowl was back. “I’m not talking to you about how she tortured me.” 

“I don’t need the exact details,” Stiles said and gulped down a mouthful of coffee. “But I want to know how she shackled you, did she take away your clothes, did she plan in advance where she’d keep you, that sort of thing. Also important: did she give you water or food, did she play a lot of mind games, did she have cronies to help out with whatever. You get it.” 

Derek finally looked down at his cake, hand clenching. “Why do you want to know? You’re too young for this. And you’re human, they shouldn’t go after you.” 

“They went after the very human school principal,” Stiles reminded him and shoved a piece of cake into his mouth. “God, this is good. Also, I’m asking for _you_ , dumbass.” He opened the browser on his phone and showed Derek the GPS tracker his father would get for him. “The clothes thing is so I’ll know where we could best put this, for example. The shackling thing is so I can decide on the best sort of picklock to give all of you. There’ll be lessons in your future, buddy. I’m also thinking about getting garotte wire for your belts, in case you need to eliminate a threat quickly and don’t want to bathe in blood for once.” 

“Werewolves don’t kill that way,” Derek said, clearly shocked at Stiles’ words. “I try not to kill at all.” 

“That’s laudable, but unfortunately not doable right now,” Stiles answered. He narrowed his eyes at the pale werewolf. “I’d better not catch you just rolling over and dying, Sourwolf. I’m not doing this for nothing.” 

“No one asked you to,” Derek muttered. 

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Stiles speared another piece of cake and glared at Derek. “I asked myself, asshole, and Peter is sort of invested, as well. And also, fuck you if you think I’d just leave Isaac hanging.” 

“Peter doesn’t really want me back in the pack.” 

“Maybe not, but he needs you, doesn’t he? It’s you against the Argents and since the Argents have a fuckton of weapons and a mean streak a mile wide, even a softwolf like you can make a difference.” 

“Your language is atrocious,” Derek told him, but his words didn’t pack any heat. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m the devil’s spawn. So, the intel on hunters?” 

Derek hesitated for a long moment, but then he picked up his fork, took a huge bite of cake for fortification, and began to talk. 

oOo

Saturday was a trial of patience for Stiles because he worried about Isaac and Derek. His das was actually great, keeping him busy all day with stories of his former army days while showing him how to use certain objects to his advantage in a multitude of sticky situations. John even told Stiles to keep his Sundays clear for the foreseeable future so he could visit the shooting range to keep up his accuracy with a handgun. 

“I’m not complaining, but it sort of seems like overkill,” Stiles said as he programmed the weekly appointment into his smartphone calendar. “What brought all of this on?” 

“Scott’s father came through with some information already,” the sheriff replied. “Apparently Kate Argent used a very well-hidden family account to pay off the people here in Beacon Hills who were connected to the Hale fire. Our crown witness was paid off as well, but he was more clever, accepted cash instead of an electronic transfer.” He looked at Stiles. “I’ve got no proof, of course, but I have a feeling that you might know something about this.” 

“I do,” Stiles admitted easily. Now that his dad was going to be in the know, there was no point prevaricating, even if the details would come a little later. “Not about the grisly details, but, yeah.” 

“Don’t let me wait too long,” John said, but he sounded relaxed. “By the way, good thinking of leaving the lacrosse team and enrolling in that martial arts class.” 

“I would’ve told you, eventually,” Stiles sighed. “Who blabbed, Finstock or the sensei?” 

“Both, actually.” John snorted. “If your coach weren’t such a thoroughly decent guy, I’d have locked him up for being an insane git long ago. As to your sensei, you do know that I have a couple of friends in Sweetland, right? And that the studio you’re frequenting is also training officers?” 

Stiles grimaced. “Please tell me you didn’t share baby pictures with them. I’ll expire on the spot.” 

“It’s nothing as bad as that, but they do get a photo every year, in case you get lost.” The sheriff smiled crookedly. “I’ll do that until the day I die, just so you know.” 

“Hmpf.” Stiles pouted. 

“Quid pro quo,” John needled. “Don’t think I don’t know about the GPS tracker you stuck inside my belt buckle. And then there’s your rabbit food.” 

“Yeah, well, difficult times require underhanded measures.” Stiles wiped his tired eyes. “You’ll leave it there, won’t you?” 

“I promise. And I’ll wear my vest from now on when I’m out and about.” 

“Get one to go under your civilian clothing, too,” Stiles asked in a small voice. “Allison’s family is full of fruitcakes, I don’t wanna take any chances.” 

“If I hadn’t already been convinced that the whole thing is serious, this would’ve sold me,” John admitted. “I’m _worried_ , Stiles. You sure you can’t tell me right now?” 

Stiles looked down at the deceptively dainty nail file his dad had pressed on him. “I would, but it’s not really my story to tell. Let’s give it a couple more days. I’ll definitely need backup for that.” 

“Alright.” 

They finished their lesson on how to turn even paperclips into lethal weapons, got out the fatty steaks and marinating vegetables for some warm-up before cooking, and lounged on the sofa for a movie. 

“I missed doing stuff with you, dad,” Stiles said softly as the intro to the first Transformers movie began. 

“Me, too,” John said, reaching out and placing a hand on Stiles’ arm. “I’m sorry for being away so much.” 

“I know why you’re doing it,” Stiles sighed. “But it sucks.” 

John sighed as well. “Only a couple more years and the bills will be paid off.” 

Stiles wished that his father could take a break from paying his mom’s hospital bills. For two years or so, just until he was ready to set out on his own for college. He wanted time with his dad, dammit, and to repair their relationship, because love alone wasn’t enough to cut it much longer. 

oOo

“You sound down, Stiles,” Peter said during his check-in in the middle of Saturday night. “Are you still pouting because Derek wouldn’t let you attend Isaac’s first full moon?” 

“Nah, it’s not that,” Stiles said, a little muzzy after a two hour internet binge about the training and handling of dangerous dog breeds. Derek would probably kill him if he ever found out. “My dad and I talked a little today. He wants to know what’s going on with me ASAP and I told him that I’d tell him soon. I also told him that there’d be backup. So, prepare yourself to demonstrate and shit.” 

“Eloquent as ever,” Peter snorted, but he sounded amused. “Think about a time and place sometime next week.” 

“Will you be back so soon?” Stiles asked, perking up a little. “How? What’s happened?” 

“Nothing much, yet,” Peter cautioned. “I found the hunters who’re holding your principal. He’s alive, but in fairly bad shape. I’m not sure how to go about it, to be honest. Any cops I send the hunters’ way might die as a result, and while I usually am all for throwing hunters under the bus, I’d like to refrain out of respect for your father.” 

Stiles’ mouth dropped open a little in surprise. “I … yeah. Good idea, actually. But here’s your solution, dude. Let me tell my dad. I’ll tell him an acquaintance found the missing principal, that he’s unsure what to do, and wouldn’t he like to take over? It’s not a lie, you keep your hands clean, and you’ll have scored points before we even have our very uncomfortable talk.” 

“I do so enjoy your cleverness, sweetheart,” Peter rumbled. 

Against his will, Stiles preened a little, even if he was a little annoyed that Peter had obviously tested him - and wouldn’t stop with the creepy endearments. “Yes, well, whatever helps keep the body count low, right?” 

“For now,” Peter agreed quite cheerily. “How is your shopping list coming along? Any substantial additions?” 

“I thought high-end body armour if you can afford it. I know that you guys have healing powers, but Isaac said that injuries still hurt like a bitch. Why would you have to suffer through that if you don’t have to? I think I saw a documentary about a guy once who did T-Shirts and jackets and even underwear.” 

“I must admit that I haven’t thought of that one before,” Peter admitted. “Very good, I’ll see what I can turn up.” 

“Then there’s a boatload of small stuff, mostly survival thingamajigs that could help you get out of sticky situations. Picklocks, small knives, even serrated rings, you get the idea. I’ll also hide GPS trackers in your stuff and I’ll be annoyed if you lose them on purpose.” Stiles huffed. “Tell Isaac, because he’s a stubborn bastard.” 

Peter laughed delightedly. “I wouldn’t dream of it. I’ll text you the address now and return sometime Monday afternoon. Try not to get eaten in the meantime.” 

“Don’t get killed,” Stiles snarked back, and the call ended. 

A minute later, Stiles had the address and went to rouse his father. 

oOo

On Monday, Isaac had the mother of all hangovers and didn’t even try to hide it. 

“Dude, what happened?” Stiles asked as he steered the bleary-eyed werewolf through the school. 

“Saturday was rough,” Isaac rumbled. “I slept all day yesterday. Had some nightmares. Derek gave me a lot of beer to cheer me up.” His pale face brightened a little. “He’s a good guy like that.” 

Stiles felt his face slip. “He what?” 

“It was special beer,” Isaac went on. “Veeery special.” 

“Okay, that’s it, no more bro parties for you,” Stiles decided. He led Isaac into the chemistry classroom and shoved him into his chair. “Try not to touch anything today.” 

Harris, of course, made it his mission to make everyone’s day miserable. He took special care to pick on Stiles, although Stiles had handed in his stupid essay and hadn’t made a single mistake during today’s experiment. Heck, Stiles was doing all the work since Isaac was absolutely useless, and still only managed to get a passing grade. Harris, he decided, was the real life version of Professor Snape, and he probably couldn't hate the man more if he tried.

At lunchtime, Scott was trying to sidle up to Stiles in the line, elbowing several people away. It was a testament to the abysmal cafeteria food that only a a few students bothered with a complaint. 

“Stiles,” Scott huffed, “I’ve been trying to talk to you for ages!” 

“Walk away, McCall,” Isaac grumbled. He tugged Stiles away. “You can have my lunch; I’m not eating anything today.” 

“Stiles, wait, no-” 

But neither Stiles nor Isaac were inclined to listen. They left the line and shuffled off to the outside tables. 

“We should’ve done this in the first place,” Isaac muttered. His tense face relaxed as soon as the sunlight touched it. “Ah, that’s better.” 

Stiles dragged him over to where Erica and Boyd were already sitting and eagerly accepted Isaac’s lunchbox. “Wha … you got enchiladas?” 

“Sort of, if you squint. It’s zucchini, mozzarella, and ground beef,” Isaac said disinterestedly. He put his head on his folded elbows and sighed deeply. “The beer was fun while it lasted. Now, not so much.” 

Erica snickered at him. “Serves you right. Hey Stiles, I’ll trade you. Want some roast beef?” 

They exchanged bites and hummed appreciatively as they chewed. 

“Whoever cooked this is really good,” Erica said. She grinned at Isaac. “It wasn’t you, I guess.” 

Isaac lazily flipped her the bird. 

“Say, Stiles, why is Scott McCall stalking you like that?” Erica asked and pointed at the boy who was sitting with Allison and very obviously staring at them. “Do we need to tell a teacher or something?” 

“I dunno. We might,” Stiles said and smirked inwardly when Scott flinched. Seriously, that guy had no stealth abilities at all. 

“What does he want?” Boyd asked, surprising them all. 

“We had a fairly serious disagreement about a life-changing chance I allegedly took from him,” Stiles told him. “He’s still mad about it.” 

“Allegedly.” Boyd didn’t sound impressed. 

“It was bullshit,” Stiles said matter-of-factly. “He doesn’t believe me, though.” From across the yard, Scott glared at him. 

“I’m not getting between you,” Erica decided, popping a forkful of salad into her mouth. “Although I’d love some details.” 

“I don’t,” Boyd grunted. 

The talk turned to other topics then, and the rest of the school day passed uneventfully. 

oOo

_Honey, I’m home_ , Peter sent that evening. 

_Ugh, cut it out, Uncle Creep,_ Stiles retorted. _My dad told me to tell you thanks, they recovered my ex-principal and even managed to arrest two of the hunters. The vic is only too willing to see them all in prison. Apparently he's spouting tons of incriminating information, which means that the hunters weren't the sharpest tools in the shed, kidnapping-wise._

_Very good. We shall see how it all shakes out. On an unrelated topic, will you tell me why Isaac is sporting a hangover the size of Montana?_

Stiles couldn’t help it, he laughed loudly. _Derek filled him up after he had some nightmares. Isaac’s not mad about it. Heck, I’m not mad about it, and I had to drag his sorry ass all over school today. He was still good against Scott, tho._

_I’ll impress upon him the importance of keeping his wits about him anyway_ , Peter replied and Stiles shivered a little at the menacing vibe those words carried. 

_Don’t be too harsh, dude. I’m sure Derek wouldn’t have let him drink if it hadn’t been bad. Or does he strike you as the type to drown his sorrows in alcohol?_

_No. I’ll still have words with my nephew_ , Peter wrote. _When he comes out of his little hiding spot in the woods, that is._

_Good luck with that_. Stiles rolled his eyes. _He probably won’t show his face for a week, and I’ve been making such good progress too_. 

_I’ll be gentle_ , Peter promised and Stiles wasn’t convinced in the least. 

For a long moment, there was no new message incoming, and Stiles didn’t feel a need to continue the conversation. Interestingly, he also didn’t feel a need to put his phone down, either. He was, instead, caught in a weird little limbo of contentment. 

Finally, his phone chimed again with a new message from Peter. 

_Send me your shopping list. I’ll take care of it tomorrow._

_Will do_ , Stiles sent back, adding a salute meme just for kicks. And, because he thought that Peter deserved it, he sent a cheeky _Goodnight,_ _Alpha_ as well. 

  
  


**End of part 11**


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things that are ruining my life right now: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L_dWvTCdDQ4
> 
> Other than that, my vacation time has flown by and now I'm back on a much slower track for writing. Meh.

**Part 12**

  
  


After some juggling it was decided to have The Talk with Stiles’ dad on Friday night. It was later than the sheriff - and frankly Stiles as well - wanted, but there was just too much going on. The sheriff station was alert like a beehive under attack due to the steadily incoming new Argent-related information, and Stiles was busy with martial arts classes on Monday and Thursday. There also was the little matter of doing homework and extra assignments as well as smuggling GPS trackers into his friends’ things and passing off tactical pens as weird little gifts without a deeper meaning. Boyd didn’t even bat an eye, just pocketed the thing and nodded once in thanks. 

“I’m nervous,” Stiles said on Friday evening. He was preparing the living room for guests, having put Peter on speaker so he’d have both hands free for some long overdue dusting. “Even with Isaac doing the showing. I mean, you and Derek are grown men, and my dad arrested Derek once. He might get out his gun after all.” 

“It’s your job to take it off of him,” Peter replied. “It is unfortunate that bribery with alcohol is out of the question. That’d have made things a lot easier.” 

“I’ll bribe him with a diner breakfast tomorrow,” Stiles said, finishing the dusting with a swipe over Isaac’s curly head, earning himself an explosive sneeze and a curse. “How will you make sure no one is staking us out?” 

Peter chuckled in a way that reminded Stiles’ of a grinning shark. “I liked your method. If Derek or I see someone loitering around, we’ll call the cops on them and watch them flail.” 

“Wanna bet that there’s at least one team?” Stiles asked. A look at the clock told him that he only had another half hour to get drinks and snacks sorted. 

“I don’t take sucker’s bets,” Peter said. “But I’ll have one of those microbrews you’re hiding in your closet.” 

“Those are mine,” Stiles protested. “Even if Undesirable #1 gave them to me.” 

Even Peter’s snort sounded elegant somehow. “You want to hoard them until you’re old enough to drink?” 

Stiles scowled. “Of course not. I plan to drink them at the earliest opportunity.” 

“I appreciate your honesty,” Peter said slickly. “However, I’ll throw you under the bus without hesitation if it ensures your continued good health. I’ll need all the brownie points with your father I can get.” 

“Ugh, why,” Stiles groaned. 

“Human teenagers are _so_ susceptible to mind-altering drugs,” Peter went on as if Stiles were actually interested in the reason. “You could harm yourself irreparably, and that would definitely harm your position in our negotiations. I told you that I’m not wasting my time with inferior things.” 

“People are not things.” 

Peter scoffed. “It’s close enough.” 

“You asshole.” Stiles leaned against the door jamb to the kitchen and frowned at Peter’s chuckle. “Wait. Isaac got sloshed, what about him?” 

The teen in question cringed. “Don’t ask. Really, don’t.” 

Stiles stared at him so hard that his eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets. “Oh my god, you’re a _carewolf_ , Peter. I can’t even.” 

“I only care for what’s mine, Stiles,” Peter purred. “You’d better start getting used to it, if you want the bite.” 

“The bite _from you_. Another alpha might be much less hassle, you know,” Stiles needled, because he was a little shit and enjoyed making Peter growly when he wasn’t in the vicinity to retaliate. 

“Another alpha might give you the bite without asking any questions, but then they wouldn’t care about anything but ordering you around, would they?” Peter retorted, holding onto his temper admirably. “Weren’t we over this already?” 

“Can’t hurt to be reminded every now and then,” Stiles smirked. “See you in an hour or so, carewolf.” 

Isaac just slapped a hand over his face and shook his head. 

The sheriff entered the house at seven on the dot and raised both eyebrows when Stiles relieved him of his gun belt and the knife he carried strapped to his ankle. 

“I won’t blow my gasket,” John said with some amusement. “I promised, didn’t I?” 

“Yeah, well, most plans don’t survive the first engagement, daddio.” Stiles put his handfuls of weaponry into the gun safe and slammed the door shut. “I took the liberty of also removing the one taped to the underside of the couch table.” 

“The one in the grandfather clock is still there?” the sheriff asked wryly. 

“One never knows,” Stiles allowed. “But you’ll sit far away from it.” 

“In that case I’ll keep my belt knife.” 

“Yeah, alright.” Stiles handed his father a root beer bottle and then steered him to the living room. “Say hi to Isaac. He’s kind of essential to the whole talk and I decided that I deserve moral support.” 

Isaac huffed and crossed his arms. “I’d have been very okay with stepping in later, or letting Derek handle it. Who knew you were such a coward, Stiles?” 

“Right back atcha,” Stiles hissed. Now that his dad was here, his palms began to sweat uncomfortably. 

“Hello Isaac. It’s good to see you. I trust Stiles has been a good host?” Wary, the sheriff allowed himself to be sat down in the recliner closest to the door, far away from the grandfather clock in the opposite corner. 

“Hi, Sheriff,” Isaac greeted, waving a little. “Yeah, I’m good. Uh, thanks.” Pleadingly he looked to Stiles, clearly unable to go any further than that. 

Stiles felt for him; his father was an imposing man and telling him that creatures of the night actually existed couldn’t be anywhere near the top 100 of things a healthy teenager wanted to do with his life. 

In fact, he had known that he’d have to do all the heavy lifting, and therefore Stiles opened his laptop without further ado and started his PowerPoint presentation. 

Deciding to bring some levity to a hopeless situation, he said, “Dearly beloved, we have come together on this fine day to-” 

“Stiles,” his father promptly interrupted, rubbing the bridge of his nose. 

Stiles couldn’t help but smirk. “Fine, fine, be that way. And with ‘that way’ I mean boring. Alright, my little history starts in January 2011, when your misbegotten, yet beloved son decided to go into preserve, at night, and look for half of a body …” 

In the following hour, Stiles laid out in detail what had happened that night in the preserve after his father had caught and sent him home, spinning a gruesome, yet engaging, tale of blood and murder, betrayal, and insanity. Despite knowing that it wouldn’t win Peter any points, Stiles put his dealings with Peter out there, including the attack on Lydia, the near-bite in the parking garage, and the ensuing bite negotiations. 

To his father’s credit, he didn’t interrupt once, choosing to follow the tale to the present day with all its intricacies and open ends. 

When Stiles was finally done, the sheriff turned to Isaac and simply asked, “You’re a werewolf now?” 

“Yessir,” Isaac answered and promptly shifted, showing off his weird beta face and the lethal claws on his fingers. 

Outwardly, John remained calm, although he did take a deep breath. “And you chose this of your own free will?” 

Isaac shifted back, pressing himself into the couch to make himself appear smaller and less threatening. “Yessir. There’s a contract and everything. Peter was a lawyer before the fire; he takes them seriously.” 

The sheriff then turned to Stiles. “And you agreed to the bite as well, if a certain set of conditions is met.” 

“Uhm, yes.” Stiles scratched at the label of his root beer bottle. “As I said, it wasn’t a spur of the moment thing. I mean it was, and the circumstances weren’t exactly ideal, but I do want it.” He suddenly put the bottle down and flailed a little, eyes wide with excitement. “I mean, who wouldn’t? The health benefits alone are crazy, not to mention becoming a goddamn sentinel with Superman strength.” 

“Stiles …” Again John rubbed the bridge of his nose, a sudden fatigue making him appear a lot older and paler. “Are you _insane_?” 

“Well, I’d say that’s a matter of perspective-” 

“Son, you’re contemplating changing your _species_ ,” his father interrupted. “There are people with far too many weapons out there who’d kill you as soon as they learned of this! Any advantages, health or otherwise, are _annihilated_ by the disadvantages, don’t you think?” 

“But the healing is a huge deal, dad. You know what a klutz I am. And the stupid ADHD might get better, or at least more productive. Plus, I’d have a pack … friends. As in, more than one.” Stiles frowned. “You know that things with my one friend went sour since he changed.” 

“Not a ringing endorsement, if you ask me,” the sheriff said sharply. “And Peter Hale is not your friend. Whatever else is going on with him and the Argents does not negate the fact that he’s a man in his mid-thirties, being inappropriately close to teenagers under the age of consent.” His piercing look landed on Isaac. “I’m not happy that you’re living with him, Isaac. Tell me now, and do not try to lie: Is Hale being sexually inappropriate with you?” 

“God, no!” Isaac blurted, flushing a bright red in his mortification. “Eugh!” 

Stiles nearly laughed about his shock, even if he had sort of worried a little about that very same thing. 

“Really, Mr. Stilinski, it’s not like that,” Isaac babbled. 

“Dad, Peter’s just taking care of him like he would a nephew or something. They’re _pack_ ,” Stiles said as earnestly as he could. “Besides, he’s the only one that can really deal with Isaac now. He’s securing him during the full moon and helping him learn everything he needs to know. God knows his dad wasn’t up to the task.” 

It was mean, but Stiles wasn’t above playing the abused kid card to make his dad come around, and thankfully some of the fight left the sheriff at those words. 

“I’m sure we could’ve found a good foster situation for you, Isaac,” he sighed. 

“Not gonna happen now,” Stiles repeated. “Besides, Isaac might’ve filed for emancipation anyway. He’s almost seventeen, why would he voluntarily go into the system?” 

“I’m good with Peter,” Isaac added, a note of steel in in voice now. “He makes sure I eat the right things and helps me with homework, nothing more. He doesn’t expect sexual favours.” 

“He helps with your homework?” Stiles asked, a little incredulous. 

“Well, he said he’ll spring for an online tutor if I need help, but that’s fine. It’d be weird if he actually, you know, _hovered_.” 

“He hovers enough to cook you sorta-gourmet dinners,” Stiles said enviously. “Seriously, the taste of the food the one time I was over has burned itself into my memory _forever_.” 

“Stiles,” his father warned. “What did I tell you about accepting food from strangers?” 

“Peter blindsided me with his mad cooking skills,” Stiles defended himself. “Also, it was all from scratch. We never eat this well; I was legit helpless.” 

“Let’s table this discussion, hm? I’d much rather know how Hale is even paying for all of this - a whole building, supporting a teenager, expensive food items,” John asked, clenching both his hands into fists. 

“He has his family’s money,” Isaac told him quietly. “He’s working it out with the bank and insurance companies right now. The hospital is on his case, too, but it’s not like they can keep him there if he doesn’t want to go back.” 

“Bothering him, are they? Well, someone should. He deserves it for acting like the Pied Piper.” John took a swig of his beer. “Crap. I wish this were something stronger.” 

Stiles grimaced at the mental image of Peter luring him and other teens out of Beacon Hills for whatever nefarious plan he might have. 

_Nope, bad mental touch, do not go there_ , he scolded himself. 

“They call every couple of days,” Isaac admitted, dragging Stiles out of his wayward thoughts. “They want to examine his case of ‘spontaneous healing’ and I think some of the doctors want to write articles about it. Peter told them to sod off, but I don’t know how much longer he’ll tell them no before doing something drastic.” 

“Can’t you get involved and tell them to back off, dad?” Stiles asked. “No one deserves to be hounded like that. The guy lost his family and was in a freaking coma for years. One would think that he’d earned his privacy.” 

“They’ll want to get him into counselling, at the very least,” John said tightly. “As to whether I’ll intervene on his behalf … that’ll depend on our talk. I assume that he’ll make an appearance soon?” 

Stiles reached for his phone and right on cue there was a chime. “He says that there’s been a little hold-up, but he’ll be here in ten.” He put the phone down and looked at his father in concern. “Is it really alright? We can do it tomorrow, or whenever you’re ready.” 

“Believe me, I’ll _never_ be ready for this talk,” the sheriff said, still looking tense and unhappy. “But we need to have it, so let’s just get it over with.” 

Ten minutes spent in silence could be very long. To avoid that unpleasantness, and to let his father take a call, Stiles retreated into the kitchen where he took the sandwiches he’d made that afternoon out of the fridge and got another round of root beer for everyone. 

Twelve minutes after his text, there was a knock at the door and Peter presented himself with a bland smile and an expensive bottle of scotch. 

“What was that about alcohol not being the solution?” Stiles asked with a glare. 

Peter’s smile widened a fraction. “He won’t guzzle that one down, believe me.” 

“Ugh, I hate you.” Stiles let him in and took the buttersoft leather jacket. “The living room’s through there. Where’s Derek?” 

“He bailed after he called his hunter team in, said he didn’t want to aggravate your father even further. And on that note I think I’ll just wait for you,” Peter replied smoothly but Stiles saw right through him. 

“I’m not acting as your shield,” he growled. “Wolf up, geez.” 

Despite his grumbling, Stiles did lead Peter into the room and presented him to his father. “Dad, this is Peter Hale, Peter, this is my dad, the sheriff of Beacon Hills. Please don’t kill each other, I don’t want to clean up blood tonight. Thanks.” 

Isaac was still huddled in the couch, half hidden in his overly large sweatshirt, but the sheriff got up, posturing a little even as he warily held out a hand in greeting. 

“I’m not sure it’s a pleasure, but welcome … for now,” John said. 

Peter accepted the handshake before handing over his gift. “Thank you for having Isaac and I. We appreciate it.” 

“I should put a bullet in you for dragging Stiles into your drama, but this’ll buy you some time.” The sheriff took his admiring eyes away from the bottle of scotch and returned them to Peter. “I also just heard about the two stalker teams close to my house.” 

“All taken care of,” Peter said modestly. “Your colleagues should be able to get at least some information regarding Gerard Argent out of them, since they all belong to his personal team.” He tapped his nose tellingly. 

“Huh. Well, that’s something, at least.” 

“Sit down,” Stiles said into the charged silence, carefully prodding Peter towards Isaac. “Do you want a drink?” 

“Why, yes, that’d be lovely.” There was a wicked gleam in Peter’s eyes, a gleam that quickly turned calculating when Stiles handed him a bottle of his dad’s regular beer instead of the expected microbrew. 

Stiles nearly killed himself keeping up his angelically innocent expression. He even blinked slowly. “Something the matter, Peter? Would you rather like a root beer instead? Or a soda?” 

“No,” Peter said slowly, eyes narrowing. “This is … fine.” 

John, who was following the byplay closely, raised his eyebrows. “Is there something I should know?” 

Stiles allowed himself a little grin. “I don’t know, _is_ there, Peter?” 

There was a red flicker in Peter’s eyes, but then the man relaxed and returned the smile with a sharp grin of his own. “Not right now.” 

“Would you mind filling me in, then?” John asked. “I got Stiles’ account of the events, but I’d like to hear yours, too. The unabridged version, if you please. You’ll find that Stiles kept very little, if anything, from me.” 

“As he should,” Peter said easily. “While Stiles’ story began in January, mine began much earlier …” 

oOo 

Stiles had to give it to Peter: he was a masterful storyteller. 

With honeyed tongue the man managed to turn a rabidly interesting history of a born werewolf in Northern California into something so boring and almost mundane that even Stiles’ bullshit-seasoned father had to fight to stay attentive. There were fantastic bits and pieces enough not to lose his audience, but Peter only turned the drama back on when Kate Argent’s attack on his family came up, and then he was _on fire_. 

Which was far less ironic than one would think, what with nearly burning to death in his family’s home in the woods. 

Even Stiles, who had cobbled the events together for himself with the bits and pieces he’d found was riveted by the tale. Truly, even noticing the manipulative turns of phrases here and there didn’t take away from it. To Stiles, the most important thing was that Peter wasn’t _lying_ to his dad; that he was telling the story from his point of view was hardly a crime, and only to be expected from a victim of such extensive trauma. 

At last, nearly two hours later, Peter was done and the group sat in heavy silence. 

“I have just one question,” the sheriff said, voice a little rough. “Was Kate Argent’s attack on your family unprovoked?” 

“Entirely, if you disregard the fact of our mere supernatural existence,” Peter returned. 

John sighed deeply. “You have me in a difficult position here, Hale. While I certainly can understand your desire for revenge, I can’t simply allow you to murder your way through the remaining ranks of Argent’s accomplices.” 

“Why not?” Peter asked, tilting his head slightly. “I promise to be very quick and very clean. Your station would never even find the bodies. Just another cold missing person case or five, quickly enough forgotten by the world.” 

“Thanks for the offer, but I’ll have to decline. You see, our worlds are not completely separate. I know that a lot of you were well-liked members of the town. My wife was even friends with two or three gals of your tribe. It’d have devastated her to lose them, had she lived long enough to go through that. She’d have wanted for the Argents to rot in prison.” 

“Unfortunately that probably won’t happen. They’re wiley and have far too much money.” Peter’s voice was icy. “You’ll pardon my desire to exterminate that pest before it manages to scatter once more.” 

“As I said, I can certainly relate. You want closure, but so do your family’s many friends and acquaintances.” John _looked_ at Peter. “Going on a rampage would rob them of the chance to see the guilty suffer for their crime and find a measure of peace.” 

“Besides,” Stiles interjected, “in prison there are always people spoiling for a fight.” 

“Stiles,” his father warned. 

Stiles, however, plowed on, “They might just engage with the right dude, for once.” 

“I swear he got that from his mother,” John muttered. 

“Mmh, and he’s not wrong. I’m willing to negotiate, but you’ll have to give me something,” Peter said after some thought. “It’s not my way to leave the table empty-handed.” 

“Should I guess?” John asked. 

“Do you even care to?” Peter countered, his clawed fingers splayed on the armrests of his chair and embers glowing in his eyes. He’d rarely looked more like a villain. 

A long, cold shiver rolled over Stiles’ skin, from the back of his neck down to his toes. A look towards Isaac, who hadn’t said a peep since Peter had begun talking, showed that he was in much the same condition: freaked out and questioning the wisdom of all his recent life choices. 

  
  


**End of part 12**


	13. Chapter 13

**Part 13**

  
  


John Stilinski was obviously questioning Stiles’ life choices as well, and he did it by ordering waffles, bacon, maple syrup (the good stuff, none of that crappy corn syrup blend some manufacturers liked to tout as the real deal), and a whole plateful of scrambled eggs. 

Stiles bore it with dignity and grace, because, well … because his dad had been right. 

Sleeping on it once more after finally getting his father’s opinion - which was the only opinion Stiles really, truly valued - had shifted his perspective so much that it now did seem a little extreme to turn into a werewolf just so he’d be better at sports and heal faster when he stubbed a toe. 

Stiles’ bout with counselling after his mother’s death some eight years ago hadn’t done much to really help deal with the pain of that loss, but it _had_ helped Stiles develop the ability to recognize his demons, which in turn now allowed him to find strategies for dealing with them. 

And the demon in question was the hard, hard truth that Stiles honestly had no issue with his humanity. He had no issue with not being the fastest, or strongest, or the smartest, either. He didn’t even have a real issue with his attention deficit disorder, as annoying as _that_ could be. He’d lived with it for so long now that he couldn’t imagine a him that wasn’t like he was right now. 

No, his issues went deeper than that, and he hadn’t even noticed. 

What he wanted weren’t sharp teeth and claws, what he wanted was what the change would _also_ bring. 

He wanted a circle of friends he could depend on, friends that needed him as much as he needed them to be a happy and healthy individual. He didn’t need to be close to many people, it was true, but he wasn’t antisocial by any stretch of the definition. He needed _someone_ , and the werewolves’ way of forming tight-knit packs appealed to him on a fundamental level. 

“The penny dropped, didn’t it?” John asked, pouring maple syrup over his waffles, bacon, and even into his coffee. “I’m glad.” 

Stiles listlessly toyed with his food, not even surprised that his father knew exactly what he was thinking. “I’m not. I really wanted the bite.” 

“You can find more friends without Hale in your life.” 

“I don’t think so,” Stiles murmured. “Before Peter bit him, Scott and I only had each other. The bite made him healthy and more outgoing and he promptly jumped at the chance and found himself new people. Which _sucks_.” He didn’t say that this also cast a very poor light on himself - what sort of friend was he if Scott fled from his side the moment he could? 

“You’re going bowling with three other kids who’re not Scott,” his father pointed out kindly. “I’d say things are looking up for you, too.” 

Stiles wondered whether he should tell him that Erica, Boyd, and Isaac (not to mention himself!) were the social outcasts who didn’t really have anybody else, but decided against it. He felt pathetic enough as it was. Plus, it’d be unfair to them since he liked them regardless of their missing coolness factor, and he was doubtful that he’d have ever even looked their way without Scott abandoning him. 

Yet another thing against his worth as a friend, he supposed. Maybe Scott had been on to something after all. 

“Anyway, I think you should cancel your bite negotiations,” John continued, oblivious to Stiles’ self-flagellation. “You’re too young, in any case. Hale shouldn’t even have offered.” 

“He wasn’t exactly in his right mind then,” Stiles murmured. “And it’s not like I’m really a _child_.” 

“He still isn’t in his right mind, according to you, which is why I have let him leave last night. That doesn’t mean I won’t shoot him, should he overstep again.” John nudged Stiles’ coffee cup closer to his son. “Please eat something, you’re giving me the willies when you eschew your favourite foods, kiddo.” 

“I know.” Stiles forced a crooked smile. “It’s just … epiphanies, dad. I don’t really know what’s what right now.” 

“Well, it’s not worth missing out on breakfast,” John said firmly. “Hale will be back … like a persistent type of mold. Until then relax, and maybe concentrate on school for a change. Even with Argent hopefully on his way out soon, you’ll still have to keep up your grades if you want that early graduation.” 

Stiles sighed. “Yeah, the requirements for Stanford and NYU are no joke.” 

For his father’s sake he nibbled on his eggs and bacon and drank his coffee, but the rolling thoughts were far stronger than his stomach. It wasn’t all to do with werewolves and hunters, either. Some of it was the dawning comprehension that his dad was _here_ now. He was _present_ , and _interested_ , and invested in keeping Stiles healthy and close by. 

Stiles didn’t know how he felt about that. 

For years, he’d yearned for exactly that, had yearned for some of his dad’s precious time and regard. And now that he had it, he suddenly resented the intrusion in his personal affairs, even if his father was right in questioning Stiles’ motives for wanting to become a werewolf. 

_You’re about three years too late, pops_ , he thought with a sad little sigh and pushed the rest of his breakfast away. 

oOo

Peter was back that evening, climbing through Stiles’ window after a welcoming wave of the teen’s hand. 

“You’re getting good at that,” the man stated, watching with glowing red eyes as the mountain ash on the windowsill once more formed a thick line. 

“The book you gave me is good,” Stiles said. He sighed and slumped in his chair. “My dad doesn’t want me to get turned.” 

“I’m aware,” Peter said calmly. He sat on Stiles’ bed and made himself comfortable in the middle, lounging on the comforter like it was some sort of throne. 

“He’ll definitely shoot you as long as I’m under eighteen,” Stiles pressed. “After that, he’ll probably still shoot you, but he might ask questions first. With a lot of luck, it won’t even be lethal.” 

“I factored that in when I proposed getting your father involved,” Peter answered. “Why does that upset you? You didn’t seem to be in a great hurry to join the ranks anyway.” 

“I wasn’t, but we’re talking at least a year, here.” Stiles bit his lip. “I dunno. I just feel out of sorts all of a sudden.” 

“You needn’t. There isn’t a time limit on my offer, and if it will calm your father, I’d be just as satisfied with Pack Negotiations for now. What I won’t do is abandoning my effort to win you over.” 

Stiles couldn’t help but enjoy the pleased little flip of his stomach at hearing that. “Pack negotiations … for joining your pack? As a human?” he asked hesitantly. “You said that some humans joined you, before, but I assumed that they were all bitten at one point.” 

“A good portion was, actually,” Peter admitted. “Some of them debated for years if they wanted to go through with it. Most wanted the change so they could roughhouse with their kids or friends during the full moon runs, or they appreciated the boost the added strength gave their day jobs. Some did have serious health conditions, of course.” 

“So it’s not bad that I’m taking my time to decide?” Stiles folded his hands and rubbed his palms slowly. 

“Not at all.” Peter smirked. “Good things come to those who wait. And I’m not flattering myself when I say that I have a lot to offer myself, and I don’t mean the money.” 

“I hope you don’t mean lessons in murder, either,” Stiles quipped, making himself and Peter smile. 

“I knew exactly what you wanted the moment I smelled your skin, Stiles,” Peter said, ending the small moment of levity between them. His eyes were once more glowing red. “You smelled lonely; you were in want of a family.” 

Stiles’ breath hitched and he blinked against the sudden, raw twist in his chest. 

“Tell you what,” Peter went on, red eyes intent on the boy, “so was I. With me, you’d never want for camaraderie or company, not ever. I can promise you that, Stiles.” 

A thousand possible responses flitted through Stiles’ mind, most of them sarcastic, but he surprised himself by saying, “Pack negotiations sound good, as long as stuff stays above the belt.” He blushed under Peter’s scrutiny. “I mean it. I don’t need another family member dead and buried.” 

“Nearly been there and done that.” Peter patted the empty side of the bed invitingly. “Disappointingly, I didn’t get the t-shirt. Get on here, and break out the microbrew, you stingy child.” 

“I won’t let you be smug alone, you creeper,” Stiles snorted and Peter actually chuckled. 

“I can allow it this once, I suppose.” 

So Stiles broke out Jackson’s beer and went to join the werewolf. As far as celebratory drinks went, it wasn’t a bad one, Stiles decided. Despite knowing of Peter’s murderous dealings, it felt good to rest next to him, their shoulders almost touching. 

Stiles thought that he could actually get used to this. It wasn’t comparable to the easy friendship he’d had with Scott, but there was still an understanding that went further than just sharing an immense dislike for the Argents and not wanting to be alone. 

Right now, that was good enough. 

oOo

Since he wasn’t able to get Stiles alone, Scott took to spamming Stiles’ messenger with pleas and demands to talk to him. He never went into specifics as to why, maybe because someone had coached him not to say anything incriminating via open channels, but the desperation was palpable. 

“Maybe you should meet him somewhere very public,” Isaac said on Thursday. They were driving to Sweetland for their martial arts class and were reasonably sure no one was listening in. “I don’t like McCall very much, but this is getting sad.” 

“Yeah, I feel like I’m torturing the poor guy,” Stiles confessed. “Scott has to know that I won’t help him kill Peter.” 

“You can sound him out, though,” Isaac said. “Find out whether he’s planning something.” 

“I hate to say it but Scott’s not completely dumb.” Stiles frowned. “Has Peter said something about this?” 

“He has an _opinion_ ,” Isaac said and smirked when Stiles barked a surprised laugh, “but he hasn’t planned ahead, yet. He’s waiting for you, I think. And your dad too, now.” 

“Right, my dad.” Stiles pondered the possibilities. “I don’t feel comfortable telling Scott that my dad knows about him now. He’d probably tell Allison, and she’ll definitely tell her parents and Gerard.” 

“Yeah, no, the Argents don’t need to set their sights on him,” Isaac agreed. “Still, your dad might have good ideas about how to meet with McCall, and how to best get him to talk. It’s not like he doesn’t know that McCall is stalking you.” 

“Right.” Stiles blew out a deep breath. “It’s taking me some time to get used to that - that I’m telling him things again.” 

“He won’t not help you,” Isaac said with conviction. “You just have to give him the chance.” 

Stiles glanced at him. “You have more faith than I do.” 

Isaac shrugged. “He didn’t try to arrest Peter, even though he was mad. That makes him pretty alright in my books.” 

His pragmatic acceptance of the status quo went a long way to calm Stiles down. The whole situation was still far from ideal, but he felt that with more people in his corner he was finally getting somewhere. 

Also, Isaac was pretty good company and always willing to while some time away in Sweetland’s best diner after exercising their brains out. That hour was quickly turning into bro time during which there was no talk of werewolves or hunters or even other people. Having been severely deprived for several years, Isaac was eager to catch up on video games and comics, and Stiles was happy to entertain him with news and opinions. In turn, Isaac readily told spooky graveyard stories and even professed an interest in starting his own comic. 

“Creepy stuff always goes well, and drawing that shit is better than talking about it,” he said after showing Stiles a few sketches on his phone. “Peter said he’d read it. You can help with texting, if you want.” 

“Dude, for real?” 

“Your drawings suck, but you’re a good writer,” Isaac said with a shrug. “I saw your econ essay about circumcision in Finstock’s office. He had it framed.” 

Stiles’ jaw dropped. “He did not.” 

Grinning, Isaac stole one of Stiles’ curly fries. “He really did. It’s on the wall behind the visitor’s chair, where students don’t normally look.” 

“Huh.” Stiles stared for a moment before getting himself together. “Right! I can help with texting, then. Whenever you have something, dude.” 

“Should it ever sell, I’ll pay you in curly fries and burgers,” Isaac said generously, and Stiles laughed and agreed to the deal. 

oOo

On Friday night, Derek was back. He crouched awkwardly on the outside windowsill, his bulk nearly too much to keep his balance for long, even with his strength and agility. 

“Come in,” Stiles huffed and let the werewolf inside. He wriggled his fingers a little, which caused the mountain ash to brush against Derek’s heels, pushing him a little further into the room. With another finger wriggle, the ash oozed back up the wall and to its original place on the windowsill. “Long time no see, Sourwolf. How’s it hanging?” 

“I should be asking you that,” Derek said stiffly. 

“Because you were bailing last week?” 

Derek nodded, looking away from Stiles and to the comic pages on the desk. 

Stiles made a throwaway gesture. “Eh, I get it, and my dad really wasn’t very happy with Peter. One more of you wouldn’t have made it better. He knows your story now, though, so you might want to show your face one of these days.” 

“Your father can’t possibly think we’re friends,” Derek said. “And he doesn’t like me.” 

“You’re Peter’s family; my dad would find it weird if you weren’t hanging out with your uncle after what went down with Kate. Besides, he feels sorry for you and sorta read me the riot act for getting you arrested.” Stiles flushed a little. “Sorry about that, by the way. Scott and I were pretty desperate.” 

Derek shrugged the apology away. Tense but determined, he stepped further into the room and sat on the edge of the bed. “You know why Peter and I don’t hang out.” 

“It’s your business if you don’t want to talk it out with each other or whatever, but it’s dangerous being on your own so much right now,” Stiles said. “Also, you’re helping Peter with sending the deputies the hunter’s way. I don’t get why you won’t just stay with him.” 

“Helping him keeps me from going omega,” Derek muttered. “But I can’t be close to him.” 

“Because you feel guilty? Man, your ex was a psycho, it wasn’t your fault.” Stiles took in Derek’s miserably hunched shoulders and the white knuckles of his balled fists. There wasn’t just guilt … there was also anger in the defeated slump of his body. “Oh my god, there’s more to it than just Kate, isn’t there.” 

Derek looked up at that, hazel eyes blazing and face so pale that it looked nearly grey. With startling vehemence he pressed out, “He started it.” 

That brought up Stiles short. “What?” 

“Kate was my fault, but he started it,” Derek repeated, eyes turning that electric, eery blue. “The story, it didn’t start six years ago. It was _seven_ years ago.” 

“You really want to tell me?” Stiles asked, sitting up. 

Derek nodded tersely. “It’ll stop your questions about why I can’t stay with him. That, and Peter would probably lie to make himself look better.” 

“Okay.” Stiles was at a loss. “Uh, is it an alcohol kind of story?” 

“I can’t get drunk,” Derek said, his gaze never wavering. 

“You can still try. And you look like you _need_ to try,” Stiles said and got up. “Be right back.” 

He went downstairs and found one of his father’s whisky bottles. Not Peter’s present, his dad would never, ever forgive him, but the cheap stuff was fair game. After some deliberation, Stiles grabbed a second one, just in case the story was especially long or bad, and went back up to his room. 

“Here,” he said and handed one bottle over. “Drink at your leisure. If you make me cry, I’ll have a drink, too.” 

Derek’s pale lips twitched the tiniest bit. He accepted the offering, opened the cap and took a long swig. Then he looked down at his shoes and began talking. “When I was fifteen, there was a girl at school. Her name was Paige and she was always playing the cello. We had nothing in common, but …” 

And out spilled a sweet story about a boy meeting a girl that was turning bitter after only a few short months of teenage bliss. 

_Man_ , Stiles thought as Derek bared his soul in understated, gut-wrenching words, _the Hales have_ really _drawn the short stick. How much bad luck can one family have?_

  
  


**End of part 13**


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was difficult to write, especially the first part. Be warned, there's discussion of Derek and Peter's history with Paige, and all the messy details. 
> 
> Also, Stiles birthday! :)

**Part 14**

  
  


_Derek told me about Paige_ , Stiles wrote to Peter as soon as Derek had left. It was a little weird to switch phones for their more involved conversations, and this was definitely one his dad didn’t need to see. _Even taking into account that he’s an unreliable narrator … how could you? That was a whole lot of Not Good._

Peter took his time replying, not that Stiles could blame him. At last, a text was incoming. 

_He was crazy about her. Almost like he found his One. It’s often delusion at that age, but his infatuation persisted past the first flush of excitement. I teased him at first and tried to steer him away. After I met Paige, however, I could see that the same was true for her. They had the same energy about them as my sister Talia, Derek’s mother, and her husband._

Stiles frowned. _And that makes it alright to wind Derek up like that and to manipulate him?_

_Believe it or not, but that was Talia’s order. She smelled Paige on Derek, of course, and was concerned that he’d get in over his head and expose us to someone who didn’t feel any obligation to keep the secret._ _I was to separate them, kindly, if I could, but honestly, after a while I was caught up in their little love story. Seven years ago we were all different people. After some months of them going steady, I encouraged Derek to reveal our secret to her; I could tell that she was in it for the long run_. 

_According to Derek, that’s not what happened. He told me that you went behind his back suddenly and arranged for a dude named Ennis to bite her. Why did you do that, if Bite Negotiations are the proper thing to do?_ Stiles felt so conflicted that it made his stomach hurt. _Why wasn’t his mom the one to do it?_

_Because she refused. I told her what I’d learned about them and tried to convince her that Paige would probably end up married to Derek. After my sister’s refusal, I admittedly acted rashly in my disappointment. I secretly met Paige and explained to her why Derek was acting strangely sometimes. She was a clever girl, she’d already noticed certain irregularities, and told me that she’d be happy enough as a pack human for now, only-_

The message stopped and a few minutes passed, minutes that had Stiles gnawing on his bottom lip and jiggling his leg. 

_Only life got in the way,_ Peter finally wrote _. Some time later she found me, and told me that she was sick. Some type of brain tumor, inoperable and definitely lethal. It wasn’t very advanced, yet, and I could barely smell it on her. I wouldn’t have been able to, had she not told me._

Another stop, and Stiles began to feel guilty for dragging up what apparently were painful memories. 

_I was devastated for Derek. He loved her, Stiles. And I loved him, big doofus that he was back then. I couldn’t not try to help, but Talia refused again when I asked. It wasn’t even really her fault, there were things going on that had the potential to blow us all up._

_Still, Paige wasn’t her first concern, and the girl was getting depressed. Derek tried to help, but she wouldn’t tell him what was going on with her. I don’t know why; he would’ve moved mountains for her and she knew it._

_Maybe she didn’t want him to see her so weak_ , Stiles responded, swallowing against the lump in his throat. _My mom hated that. She didn’t want to worry my dad either._

_Maybe. In any case, things were starting to look grim and another month or so later she came to me and asked whether I knew of another way to turn her if Talia didn’t want to do it. She had nothing to lose except maybe half a year of miserable medical treatments and pain management that wouldn’t do much for her anyway._

Stiles didn’t want to be that asshole, and he _did_ want to believe Peter, but this story was too explosive not to check the details. He began to make notes and wrote a list of things to look into later. 

_Several werewolf packs came to Beacon Hills around that time for a peace summit of sorts_ , Peter continued. _The alphas were Deucalion, Kali, and Ennis. Altogether the members of their packs made up more than a hundred people. The other party was a delegation of the Argent family, led by Gerard. To this day I don’t know why he was given permission to speak for the hunters; the Argents are a matriarchal clan and have never allowed men to assume positions of authority._

_Of course things went south, fast. The hunters killed one of Ennis’ betas just outside my family’s territory, which enraged Ennis enough to officially call for vengeance. My sister, unsurprisingly, supported him - the beta was brutally tortured to death and Gerard’s people should never have gotten away with it._

_How do you know so much about all of this?_ , Stiles typed. _Were you there?_

_Not officially, as I had no permanent formal role in the pack yet_ , Peter answered. _I hid, because I was curious, and worried for my sister. I heard all, and saw all. After that meeting, I approached Ennis and entered into Bite Negotiations on Paige’s behalf, with her full knowledge and permission. Ennis was … amenable, but I underestimated his fury about the loss of his pack member. When the time came to meet Paige and give her the bite, he lost it and nearly killed her._

Stiles shuddered, suddenly seeing Lydia bloody and senseless before him. The poor girl must’ve been terrified out of her mind. _Derek said he was there - he said you asked him to come - and that it was a carnage._

_I did, and it was_ , Peter replied. _Paige wanted him there for her change, but nothing turned out the way it should have. I regret everything that happened, but I can’t regret trying to give the kids what they wanted. I’m just grateful that Derek had the presence of mind to stay away because Ennis might’ve killed him, had he tried to defend Paige._

Stiles felt a headache coming on. _I’m beginning to seriously regret having ever found out about the supernatural. Why didn’t you pick Kali, or Deucalion, if Ennis was so unstable?_

_Because Kali was known to be cruel even then, and Deucalion didn’t bite humans if he wasn’t personally invested. Ennis was Paige’s only chance at survival, and unfortunately he not only tortured her, but the bite also didn’t take,_ Peter sent, one sentence after the other. _She was in terrible pain. Thankfully, Ennis got called away before he could kill her, and Derek had the presence of mind to take her away before someone else could find her and finish the job._

_To a hidden root cellar in the preserve_ , Stiles typed dubiously. _Why there? Why not take her back to her parents so she could at least tell them goodbye?_

_I don’t know, maybe she asked him not to. Derek sent me away and I adhered to his wishes. What else could I’ve done._

The conversation stalled then, and the pause dragged on for nearly ten minutes before Peter sent another message. 

_It’s not an excuse for what happened with her, I know that. I should’ve involved Derek more, let him in on what his girlfriend wanted. And she should’ve told him that she was sick, her pride be damned. Maybe Derek would’ve been able to sway his mother where I couldn’t, and maybe Talia giving her the bite instead of Ennis would have made all the difference, even if Paige would still have died from bite rejection._

_Do you really think Kate wouldn’t have been able to influence him, had it happened like that?_ , Stiles asked, uncertain whether Peter wanted to entertain more questions about the whole terrible affair. _He still would’ve grieved Paige, and if you’re right and they were sort of soulmates or whatever …_

_He would’ve had the pack_ , Peter replied firmly. _My interference took that from him._

_He did say that you started your family’s streak of misfortune_ , Stiles wrote. _And I’m sorry, but I think he might be right. He KNOWS that there were things going on behind his back. You really need to talk, before this explodes in your faces._

Peter didn’t reply to that, and Stiles felt compelled to add, _He’s so damn sad all the time. At least let him know what really happened_. 

_Without proof he won’t believe me_ , Peter returned. _He’s convinced that I’ve orchestrated the whole thing to play a vicious prank_. 

_Understandable_ , Stiles typed, although he did feel sorry for Peter, if he’d indeed told the truth. _Try anyway_. 

After that there were no more messages, and Stiles tried to console himself with the fact that he probably knew the whole story now. There were facts to check and werewolves to wrangle, but that, he decided, could wait until morning. 

oOo

Stiles hadn’t been able to help himself, upcoming birthday or no. During the night he transcribed Peter’s messages and tried to fit them into a timeline that matched up with Derek’s account and then trawled the internet for local news around that time frame to find out what could’ve held Talia Hale’s attention so firmly that she hadn’t had the time to deal with her brother and son’s problems. 

When he finally gave up around four in the morning, Stiles was, if not satisfied, at least reasonably sure that Peter had not obviously lied. There had been a lot of people coming and going for several months, likely the guests sending scouts and delegations prior to the big meeting, which, from what Stiles had been able to find in the news reports, had obviously ended in a bloodbath. 

_Not a good time to be a young werewolf dude in love with a terminally ill human girl,_ Stiles thought as he burrowed into his pillow and pulled the comforter up to his ears. _Maybe the Hales have been cursed; I should probably look into counter-magic, just in case._

oOo

Since it was his birthday, Stiles got to sleep in, which he did with relish until his alarm woke him at half past eleven. His father had gotten their time-honoured and much beloved breakfast from all over town and made his own scrambled eggs to round out the offering of fluffy pancakes, Polish sausages, the salted butter from the farmer’s market they could only afford once in a blue moon, and a bottle of blueberry sauce, courtesy of Mrs. Spangler three houses down. 

“Happy Birthday, kiddo,” John said, smiling a little mistily at his sleep-addled son and handing him a cup of coffee. “So good to see that you’ve made it through another year.” 

“Har-har,” Stiles grumbled. “Yum, good coffee!” He smacked his lips. “That’s not our usual, is it?” 

His father’s smile vanished. “No. It was in the basket _someone_ left at our backdoor. There were instructions to use it today, in case you want to pout that I opened it without your permission.” 

“I’m not pouting,” Stiles said, already looking for the basket. He found it on the worktop and couldn’t help but coo a little. It was large and handwoven and had a huge red bow on the handle. “Wow, someone went all out with the Little Red Riding Hood joke. Can I?” 

John motioned for him to go for it and Stiles gleefully discovered a couple of jars of artisan marmalade, jerky made of different meats, a small chocolate cake just big enough for two, a book on healthy cooking, and- 

“The Standard Book Of Spells, Vol. 1,” Stiles read out loud, incredulous. He turned it over and back, exclaiming over the sturdy leather binding and gold lettering. “It looks like prop out of the Potter movies. One hundred points for that one!” 

“I had a look at that, too,” his father said, crossing his arms in front of his chest now. “That’s no Potter merchandise. Anything you might want to tell me?” 

“Uhm, not really?” Stiles said, nonplussed. 

“You’re not secretly becoming a wizard, Harry?” John pressed. “Because I’d really like to know.” 

And okay, Stiles could understand that, after their talk a week ago. “No, it’s nothing like that. I’m just … dabbling. Someone knows it sort of interests me, that’s all. It’s probably a loan from their own stash.” 

“That someone has strange tastes, then,” John stated dryly. “Strange and _expensive_. I can’t believe they’d loan it to you of all people.” 

“Hey, I resent that. I can be non-klutzy on occasion.” Stiles took another gulp of the really pretty fucking amazing coffee and waved his arm with the book around. “Can you even see me doing that? Waving a wand or brewing potions?” He cackled. “Although it’d be a right hoot if it actually worked.” 

“Maybe you’ll wait a little with the spellcasting,” his father said, smiling reluctantly. “How about at least until after your party?” 

“Very good plan, daddio!” Stiles chirped and put the book back into the basket. “But first, breakfast!” 

oOo

Stiles met Isaac, Erica, and Boyd in front of the Bowling Hall and thoroughly enjoyed the warm, glowy feeling in his chest when Erica hugged him tightly and kissed his cheek, Isaac pulled him in for a short man-hug and surreptitious scenting, and Boyd nodded solemnly. 

“Catwoman, you look a-ma-zing!” Stiles cried, and it was true. The girl had curled her stubborn hair and even managed to pin up victory rolls. She wore eyeliner and fire engine red lipstick, too, transforming her into a little bombshell. “I totally dig your outfit!” 

“I took me hours, but I like it, too,” Erica said, cheeks pinking in pleasure as she twirled once. “I even managed to convince Boyd to dig out his dad’s varsity jacket, too, and Isaac has the look down pat.” 

“I wish I’d known,” Stiles said a little wistfully. “My dad might’ve borrowed me his.” 

Isaac opened his messenger bag and pulled out a lump of fabric. “How lucky that I’m carrying this around with me, then.” He threw it at Stiles. “Put that on, it’s almost time to claim our lane.” 

Grinning broadly, Stiles chucked his sweatshirt and shrugged the iconic white and red varsity jacket on. “Thanks, Isaac!” 

They entered the building and Stiles went up to the reception area. “Hey, I’ve booked a lane for Stilinski. Is it still granny and vet hour?” 

The young woman behind the counter smiled, showing off cute dimples. “Yep, it sure is. No strobe lights or laser show, right?” 

“That’s us. Thanks for letting us do this. I know you're usually booked solid.” Stiles handed over the money. 

“It wasn’t a problem, really. When I asked around for someone to give up their time for you, there were four volunteers. Your friend won’t have any issues this afternoon, I promise.” The woman, whose name tag said Jenny, winked. “She even called ahead and asked what music would be on. When she learned that our oldtimers preferred the fifties, she nearly squeed my ear off.” 

Stiles looked back at his friends who were all looking a little out of time and surprisingly cool like that. “It was worth it, though. They’re having fun already.” 

“You’ll have a great two hours, I promise,” Jenny said. “Someone will be by with menus after you’ve started your game, and the first round of drinks is on us.” 

“Uh …” 

“Happy Birthday,” Jenny laughed. “Go get your shoes, your friends are getting antsy.” 

Flustered, Stiles thanked her and waved the others over to the shoe counter, where Isaac was having a minor meltdown due to some unpleasant smells. 

At last, however, they’d made their way to their lane, where the computer was already waiting for them to put in their names, and a cute waitress on chunky vintage rollerblades was waiting with four menus. 

“First round is free,” she told the little group, “so make it count!” 

Erica was limited in what she could order, but the boys certainly heeded the advice and ordered the most pricey alcohol free cocktails the bowling alley had on offer. 

“Very good choice,” the waitress praised and winked before rolling off with perky little hip sways. 

“Good idea, coming here,” Isaac said as he watched her leave. 

“Pervert,” Erica laughed. She looked around with wide, wondering eyes and a happy smile on her face. “I can’t believe you managed to talk them into giving you a lane during senior hour, Stiles. My parents gave up after they failed nine out of ten times.” 

“But you play?” Boyd asked. 

“Not very well, but yes. I like it,” Erica replied. “Do you?” 

“Sometimes,” was Boyd’s succinct answer. 

Their game started and, as the birthday boy, Stiles went first. Unlike ice skating, bowling wasn’t a particular talent of his, but he was certainly motivated with the peppy music in the background and some friends there to jeer and cheer in equal measure. 

And boy, did they have fun. Where Boyd was all serious, Erica was determined to throw her ball differently every time. From squatting and using both hands to trying it left-handed and even backwards, everything was game. In contrast, Isaac was the most competitive of them, and he had the eye-hand coordination to match. 

Later, there were burgers and milkshakes, all of it made perfect by the fact that the kitchen was willing and able to accomodate Erica’s needs. Stiles would probably scoff about her bun-less burger and low sugar milkshake for a while, but he couldn’t deny that her food still looked and tasted very good. 

There even were presents, which Stiles honestly hadn’t expected. The varsity jacket was Isaacs - and Stiles would probably think the implications of having matched jackets to death later while Erica gave him a voucher to the comic book store, to which Boyd had added something. 

“You’re the best, guys, thanks,” Stiles said, a little overwhelmed. “Can we go visit the store before you have to go home?” 

“Sure,” Erica agreed at once. She grinned. “In fact, I’d hoped you would want to go there today. The new Superior is out.” 

“Have you heard of the Superior World Record Special?” Stiles asked and shoved the last of his curly fries into his mouth. “I wish I could get one of those, but they’ll be limited to only 10,000.” 

Isaac was interested, too, because the shop sold drawing materials and paper and Boyd seemed content to just tag along. 

Learning that Isaac was serious about creating his own comic, Erica declared herself Isaac’s muse and pledged herself to finding the best paper and pencils for him and be his very first cheerleader. 

Once their time on the alley was up and Isaac declared the winner, with Boyd a very close second, they took a stroll through Beacon Hill’s downtown area and spent a fun hour in the comic book store. Erica and Isaac absconded to the artist corner and Stiles and Boyd poked through the magazines and showed each other hilarious merchandise of their favourite comics. 

Around eight Boyd took Erica home, but not before the girl gave Stiles another tight hug and a kiss to his other cheek. This time, she left the lipstick on his skin. 

“I had a great time, Stiles,” she said, beaming. “Thanks for inviting me to your party!” 

“You’re welcome, Catwoman. We should do that again sometime. Do you wanna swap comics after reading?” 

Erica bounced a little, her curly hair bouncing with her. “Of course, Batman. Let’s say Wednesday? I should’ve memorized Superior until then.” 

Stiles saluted her, and then he saluted Boyd too, just because he was so darn content with life right now. 

“It was a good party,” Isaac said when they were on the way home as well. He bumped his shoulder against Stiles’. “You picked a good one in Erica. She’d make a good pack mate.” 

“You think so?” Stiles asked, the contentment getting stronger. “I thought you weren’t so keen on her.” 

“I’m not one for snap decisions.” Isaac shrugged. “I know I did it with Peter, but then again not really. I had years to think about what I wanted, and what I’d do if I ever managed to get away from my dad.” 

“Peter ticked your boxes, I guess,” Stiles murmured. 

“Yeah, he did. Security, someone to care for me, someone to let me be myself.” Isaac looked out of the passenger window. “It was really all I wanted. I don’t mind all the other stuff. If life’s gotta be exciting, I’ll at least be prepared. Plus, Derek isn’t so bad. He’s not Camden - my brother - but he’s looking out for me. He’d look out for Erica as well. She’d like that.” 

“She’d probably jump him,” Stiles laughed. “Poor guy’s too handsome for his own good.” 

“Nah, I think that ship has sailed already,” Isaac countered. He smirked. “He’s good at hiding it, but Boyd’s into her.” 

“Really?” Stiles’ mouth dropped open. “You think she’s into him, too?” 

“Not sure. She’s attracted to you, too.” 

“To _me_!” Stiles nearly drove the jeep off the road. “You’re kidding, right?” 

“Nope. Anyway, you can let me out here.” 

Careful, Stiles stopped at the curb. “Get home safely.” 

“You too. Thanks for the invite, we really had fun today.” Isaac clasped Stiles’ shoulder. With a grin, he added, “The jacket suits you well. Wear it to school on Monday?” 

“If you wear yours,” Stiles challenged, to which Isaac tilted his head and jumped out of the car. “See you!” 

As Isaac vanished in a dark alley, Stiles put the jeep back in gear and drove home. His head was full to bursting with impressions of his party, but also Derek and Peter’s stories. Now, without someone to distract him, it all flooded back and demanded his attention. Plus, there was an actual Standard Book Of Spells, Vol. 1 waiting for him at home! 

All of that flew out the window, quite literally, when he entered his room and discovered a colourful little package on his windowsill. There was no tag on it, but Stiles just knew that it was from Derek. 

Stiles managed to send heartfelt thank you texts to both Hale werewolves before succumbing to the lure of Mass Effect 2 and finishing his birthday in style by blowing up aliens and saving the universe. 

  
  


**End of part 14**


	15. Chapter 15

**Part 15**

  
  


The thing was that Stiles apparently _could_ do spells. 

The first time he tried imbuing a pebble with magic so it’d give off some light at night, however, nothing at all had happened, or so it seemed. Which was more than fair, it was only the very first day after receiving the spell book for his birthday after all, but Stiles was nothing if not eager to sink his teeth into this new puzzle. 

He had gone over the spell again and again with increasing stubbornness until there were a baker’s dozen white pebbles lined up in front of him … all of which had done exactly nothing after the spells’ completion, not even when placed in a dark shadow in his room. 

He’d gone to bed early, disappointed that it hadn’t worked. 

Only it _had_ , as evidenced by the baker’s dozen of little suns making it impossible to sleep once night had fully broken. 

“I’m fucking Harry Potter,” Stiles had whispered in awe, staring tiredly yet excitedly at his apparently rather magical hands’ work. 

It had been fantastic and breathtaking for all of twenty minutes. Then, he’d wanted to go back to sleep because he had school the next day and a test in History, but the pebbles’ light was making it impossible. 

Stiles finally had to resort to putting the nightlights into his magic war chest and lock them in. Of course he was now determined to find out how to put a switch into the spell to make the nightlight effect more convenient … just not _right now_. Right now he needed to sleep off his rather unusual exhaustion. 

oOo

“You smell weird,” Isaac told Stiles on their way into the school building. 

“Like what?” Stiles asked, mentally going over the spell he’d done yesterday. There was a sort of ‘nox’ to permanently douse the light, but that wasn’t what he needed-

“Like petrichor and wet plant matter.” Isaac wrinkled his nose, but it looked more contemplative than disgusted. “A bit like the air during a thunderstorm, too.” 

“But not bad?” 

Isaac palmed Stiles’ neck under the pretext of pushing him up the last stairs. “Nah, it’s interesting. And it sorta fits with your normal smell.” 

“I’ll take it, then.” Stiles grinned. “Have you seen Jackson’s look at our jackets?” 

“He wishes he were that cool,” Isaac snorted. “I also saw Lydia. Did you know she’d be back today?” 

“Yeah, my dad told me. He was super worried when she walked out into the woods one night and no one could find her for almost two days.” Stiles still felt angry at himself for not having known about it. Now he was retroactively worried about her and would probably make an idiot out of himself by trying to comfort her somehow, even though she barely acknowledged his existence. 

“She seems better now, at least,” Isaac said, tightening his grip just a little to ground Stiles’ rising emotions. “You think Jackson will sit with her at lunch?” 

“He better,” Stiles said, “or I will.” 

“Maybe not today,” Isaac reminded. “Erica would be disappointed.” 

Stiles conceded the point and followed Isaac to History, where the teacher was already waiting with the test papers in hand. It was a sucky start to his Monday, and it didn’t get much better when Scott managed to force a folded piece of paper into Stiles’ hand at lunch. 

“He’s persistent … I’d say it’s time to entertain him,” Isaac murmured after having read the short, demanding missive. “You know what to do.” 

“Yeah,” Stiles sighed, not fighting against the scowl that wanted to take over his face. “But I really don’t want to. I might hit him and I rather like my not-broken bones.” 

“Might almost be worth it,” Isaac stated philosophically, and yeah, he had a point there. 

oOo

Stiles called Peter after their martial arts lesson in Sweetland was over. Isaac sat next to him in the jeep, a drawing pad in his lap and a pencil in his hand. The sketches he was doing were only rough beginnings, but Stiles found himself mesmerized by the steady movement of Isaac’s hand. 

“It’s a bit early for another storytelling hour,” Peter greeted. He sounded cautious and a little wrung out. 

Stiles couldn’t blame him. 

“It’s not about that,” he hastened to assure the werewolf. “It’s Scott. He’s spamming me with messages and demanding we meet for a talk. In the newest he sort of threatened my dad, which is not gonna fly. So, ideas on how to handle it?” 

“He’s still with the Argent girl, isn’t he?” Peter asked. 

“Unfortunately.” Stiles pulled a face, feeling immediately better when Isaac mirrored him. “I’ve no proof at all, but I’d bet my laptop that she knows everything, and that her family is banking on Scott and I to get to you.” 

“A reasonably assumption after Gerard’s attempt to interrogate you. Hunters always have several plans in place, and it’s a known fact that they’ll use everyone and everything to bring it to the desired conclusion.” 

“Even their mortal enemies?” Stiles asked, grimacing again. “I hoped that The Bitch was the only one to stoop so low.” 

“Oh, no, they’ll use _everything_ in their arsenal to find an in,” Peter told him. “You might have noticed that werewolves are generally attractive to humans; you needn’t think that it is a _hardship_ for a hunter to have relations with a were, as long as feelings aren’t involved.” 

“Isn’t that sort of like zoophilia from their point of view?” Stiles was appalled at the mere imagination. At Peter’s little hum he cried, “Oh my god, just when I thought those guys couldn’t get any worse!” 

“I believe it is unnecessary to belabour the point any further,” Peter said. “Allison Argent might have been a decent human being at one point, but I’m afraid that she’s past that point by a few miles by now. She’s not your friend, Stiles.” 

“Oh, I know that. The glaring and whispering in Scott’s ear clued me in pretty good.” 

“She’s also being a little bitch and belittling your recent taste in friends,” Isaac said without looking up from his drawing. “They still don’t know about me, which just goes to show how incompetent McCall is. Even I can smell the wolf on people, and I’ve only been one for a month.” 

“So what do we do now?” Stiles asked. “I can’t meet him alone somewhere, because they might kidnap me. I can’t bring my dad because then they might also kidnap or even kill him because he’s in their way. Ditto for Isaac, and please don’t bring up Derek. I’m not asking him to face those bastards again.” 

“You could invite McCall into your home with your father present,” Peter suggested. His tone made clear that he really wanted to call Scott ‘The Failure’ - or worse. “He was your friend, he’ll probably be inhibited in your territory and not do something rash.” 

“That’s the thing, I don’t think I want him there anymore,” Stiles sighed and bit his lip. “But I guess that’s the best option right now.” 

“Unfortunately no place is safer at the moment. Tell your father about this, leave nothing out. He might want to invite a work colleague or two that evening, that’ll give you an extra layer of protection.” Peter huffed out an annoyed growl. “The little pup is moving faster than I expected.” 

“Hah, no, that’s actually slow in Scotty’s world,” Stiles retorted. “Patience is not his strong suit.” 

“Mmh, just another reason to suspect Argent’s involvement, then,” Peter said. “Let’s talk logistics now. A school night would be better than the weekend - less time for McCall to draw you into a lengthy discussion or finagle some sort of outside intervention. If your father agrees, take the night before the longest school day, that’ll further deter McCall.” 

“That’d be Wednesday, then,” Stiles said after exchanging a look with Isaac. “He’s got lacrosse on Thursdays. The coach’s not gonna let him skip. My dad’s on early shifts this week as well, so he’ll be home.” 

“Excellent.” Peter sounded like he meant it. “That should buy you time. If you can, let his mother know that you’re meeting, and call me so we can listen in on your talk, but if it’s not possible, try to at least record it.” 

“I’ll bug the shit out of my room,” Stiles said, making a note on his forearm with Isaacs biro. “I’ll bug Scott too, if I can.” 

“I adore your deviousness,” Peter purred. “Stay safe, call me if you need anything, and remember: only one milkshake, boys.” 

“Yes, dad,” Isaac huffed with an eye roll. “See you tonight.” 

Peter hung up and Stiles groaned. 

“Did he really include me in the only-one-milkshake-rule?” he asked. 

“Yep.” Isaac finished the arm he had been drawing and began to pack his utensils away. “He’ll sniff me later, and let me tell you, he _always_ knows when I’ve overstepped.” 

“Can I ask how he’s punishing you?” Stiles asked, a little awkward. “Is it very bad?” 

“He’s making me do extra exercises,” Isaac said. “Not the run of the mill stuff, but that insane shit with free weights and really heavy chains and under wolfsbane influence. I hate the last one the most, but he’s scheduled that once a month at least.” 

“Ugh, wow. Barely four weeks and he’s already laying it on thick. Sucks to be you.” Stiles patted Isaac’s shoulder in commiseration. 

“Well, Peter’s sort of counting on me breaking his rules. It’s survival training and he doesn’t really like making me do it without cause.” 

Stiles paused at that. “He really is a carewolf, I kind of can’t believe it.” 

Isaac shrugged. “It’s because we’re both pretty damaged. I told you I can deal with it as long as I know why he’s making me do it.” 

“Well, I guess it might help you get out of a sticky situation sometime,” Stiles admitted and started the jeep. “But it’s still intense.” 

“Speaking of sticky situations, Derek asked me when we’d have time for some training. He said you were magic with a picklock. If you’ve got tips on how to get out of handcuffs or trunks or other tight spaces with human strength … I want to learn it.” Isaacs voice was tight and his glower intense. 

Stiles refrained from asking and just nodded. Isaac would tell him if and when he was ready, and until then they had their milkshakes and burgers and hours of uninterrupted bro time. 

oOo

The April full moon was in exactly two weeks, and everyone, even Stiles’ father, agreed that making Scott wait until after would make the boy impatient. Even worse, it’d make the Argents suspicious.

They still weren't able to have the meeting the very next Wednesday, as there was a huge traffic pile-up due to the newest temp teacher staggering drunk as a skunk across the busiest intersection in town that evening. Stiles' dad had to go out and help managing the situation before more people could get seriously hurt. Stiles cancelled without scruples, citing the need to help his dad out with house work, and refusing every attempt from Scott to let him come into the house regardless.

Later, Peter had told him that the temp teacher had stunk of hunter, which made it a very real possibility that one of Gerard's buddies had filled her up to achieve exactly this outcome.

“I still can't believe what those people are willing to do to get their way,” the sheriff said during a memorable Friday night dinner in a steakhouse in Rosemary, the next larger town on the southern side of Beacon Hills. Everyone was present, even Derek, although the werewolf permanently looked like he wanted to bolt. “It’s hard enough imagining that the Argent family might have gaslighted Scott into believing their absurd tales. If he does something to hurt Stiles next week … I don’t know if I’d let him leave my house unscathed.” 

“He can take some scathe after the stunt he tried to pull,” Peter said, showing the tiniest hint of fang. “It’d be his own doing, too. It’s not like your son didn’t tell him exactly how stupid he’s being by trying to kill me to regain his humanity.” 

“That _is_ a fairytale, isn’t it?” John asked sharply. 

“Oh yes, it absolutely is. My nephew did well in securing The Failure’s cooperation with it, that was positively devious,” here Peter smirked at his squirming nephew, “but it is altogether unfortunate that The Failure has difficulty letting go of his belief in this old wives’ tale.” 

“You don’t like Scott, I even understand why … but must you call him that, Hale?” John sighed. 

“He is incapable of appreciating the _gift_ my bite is,” Peter countered, a little sharp. “Yes, it was unwanted, but the ungrateful whelp got so much out of it that it should’ve balanced the scale by now. I don’t even try to bring him into the fold anymore.” 

“He’s not wrong, dad,” Stiles muttered, a little resentful. 

“Scott has a right to his feelings,” his father said sternly. “And if he hates being a werewolf, we’ve got to accept that.” 

“But that’s the thing. He doesn’t hate it!” Stiles clamped his mouth shut as a waitress appeared with their main course. When she’d disappeared a long three minutes later, he hissed, “He _loves_ that shit. He eats it right up. The speed, the power, the senses, not to mention his health - he’s in heaven, believe me. He’s got friends and a girlfriend now, and Allison’s even helping him with school work. Everything’s just fine and dandy in Scotty’s little world, but he’s acting like Peter killed all of Doc Deaton’s furry little patients and built a bonfire out of their bones.” 

“It was still an attack,” John said. “He lost something he’ll never get back.” 

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Stiles muttered mulishly, grateful for the knee Isaac was pressing against his in a show of support. “I’ve got _books_ now, I might just find a way to reverse it. We’ll see how he likes it.” 

A look of unholy fascination appeared on Peter’s face and even Derek looked vaguely hopeful. 

“If you manage _that_ , I’ll owe you a boon,” Peter declared. “One worth a life.” 

“Not _your_ life? Pity,” John said. 

“Deal,” Stiles said quickly, elbowing his dad sharply. “And challenge accepted.” 

“I’m not sure I like that you’re waiting for my kid to clean up your mess, Hale,” John began, only to be interrupted by Stiles. 

“I think Peter would be the first to de-wolf Scott, if he could,” the teen scoffed and cut into his steak with brash knife strokes. “Like, for real. Scott’s a shit wolf. He isn’t able to sniff out Isaac, he’s got issues with his aggression because he refuses to accept his new circumstances, and he’s apparently got delusions of cleverness if he thinks he can actually outsmart someone like Gerard Argent.” 

“Assuming that The Failure actually wants to outsmart Gerard,” Peter chimed up helpfully, far too amused for anyone’s tastes. “Maybe he just wants to do me in and doesn’t really care about collateral damage. In Stiles’ case that could very well prove fatal.” 

The sheriff narrowed his eyes first at Peter and then at his son. “Even if that … that _reversal_ worked, how many resources will you sink into this project? It could be a pipe dream for all you know, kid. It could cost you untold amounts of money and time; time you’ll never get back.” 

“Time management would be Stiles’ responsibility, but I’m more than willing to lend the necessary funds to the cause,” Peter said, still almost glowing with excitement. “Not to mention any available packmates.” 

“It’s a project for rainy days, for now,” Stiles said quickly to head off Derek’s growled denial that he belonged to said pack. “I have to explore what I can do first. It wouldn’t do to blow up an ally, now would it?” 

“I’d also take you blowing The Failure up,” Peter interjected smoothly, “but in the interest of rejoining society as a free and somewhat respected citizen, my offer stands.” 

“How very generous,” John said dryly, but his mouth curled up a little in a smirk. 

Stiles, who had known that his dad was just as much a sucker for sarcastic people as himself, counted it as a success. It helped that Peter truly hadn’t killed any innocents until now, and while Lydia would be traumatized for a good while yet, Stiles was sure that he could bring Peter around to his way of thinking and offer her some sort of compensation. 

The unpleasant conversation over for now, they all made short work of their steak. There was a bit of trading going on, Isaac giving his herb butter to Stiles’ dad in exchange for half of his baked potato, Stiles trading his potato for all of Peter’s mushroom cream, and Derek stealing some of Isaac’s salad which the teen was reluctant to eat anyway. 

Derek didn’t say a word all throughout the meal; sitting next to Peter visibly stressed him out and Stiles wondered why he’d even come. 

It turned out that the question would be answered more or less immediately because upon their return home, Stiles found Derek outside on his windowsill. 

“You know that you can knock on the backdoor, now that my dad knows,” Stiles sighed but let him in. His handy was playing funky music to disturb eventual listeners. 

“He probably wouldn’t like it,” Derek said, shuffling to stand uncomfortably in a corner. 

“Fine, that might be true. What’s up?” 

Derek inched toward the bed and dared to sit down after a second of enduring Stiles watching him with raised eyebrows. “Isaac told me what you smell like, now.” 

“Okay? He said it wasn’t bad, but now I’m wondering.” 

The joke fell flat on Derek. “It’s the smell of magic. It’s very strong in here,” he said, looking at Stiles with his wide hazel eyes like he wanted to take him in all at once. “I smelled it once while I was … living with Laura.” 

“Oh. Uhm, wow. I guess that’s not very good, then. Scott’ll smell it on me eventually and figure it out.” 

Derek put a hand into his jacket pocket and fished something out. “He will, but not with this.” 

Stiles hesitantly accepted the little polished stone amulet. There was a zing of something dancing over his skin. “An obsidian charm?” 

“The witch we met in New York gifted one to each of us. It’s a basic scent dampener, helps a little against a hunter’s watch dogs and also against other supernaturals.” Derek stuffed both hands into his pockets. “It’ll help you more than me right now.” 

“Thanks, Sourwolf. I appreciate it.” Stiles put the band around his neck and tightened it gently. “It feels good.” 

Derek sniffed quietly. “It still works. Your scent is muted. Can I ...” He paused. 

“C’mon, don’t be shy now,” Stiles teased, keeping his body language intentionally open. “You wanna stay here for a while?” 

“I … yes, but that’s not …” Derek halted again, eyes flicking from the amulet to Stiles’ face. “Can I see what you did? With your magic?” 

That surprised Stiles but he regained his equilibrium quickly enough. “Sure, but you should close your eyes for a minute. I might have gone a little overboard … yeah.” 

It gratified Stiles that Derek was heeding his warning. His eyes were tightly closed, and yep, Stiles wished he had super blackout sunglasses because his pebbles were glowing like little supernovae in his magic war chest. 

“Here it is … a nightlight, haha.” Stiles handed the pebble over. “Maybe don’t look at it directly?” 

Derek turned his head and squinted down at his hand, only to hiss and close his glowing blue eyes again. “What did you do?” 

“A nightlight spell,” Stiles huffed. “I got impatient when it didn’t seem to work and sort of put too much juice in it. I think. I need to undo the spell and try again, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it, yet.” 

Derek shoved the pebble under Stiles’ comforter and took a deep breath. “You should, but I understand. That’s … that’s good work, for your very first try.” 

“I know, right?” Stiles flopped onto his desk chair and flailed a little. “I still need to tell my dad, but you get now why I think I might find a spell to give Scott back his humanity. Should I tell him next week? He’d stop trying to find ways to kill Peter, wouldn’t he?” 

Derek shook his head, brows furrowed. “That’s not a good idea. Scott would probably think you’re lying to keep him from achieving his goal. He’d also tell the Argents and who knows what they would like to do with a magic user that can take the spirit out of a were.” 

Stiles deflated. “Yeah, you’re right.” He smiled weakly. “I’m not used to thinking of him as an enemy. Or of _having_ enemies.” 

“You probably wouldn’t, if you weren’t parleying with Peter,” Derek pointed out. “I’m still not happy about it.” 

“I know. But he’s doing some good now, isn’t he?” Stiles nudged Derek’s boot with his socked toe. “Isaac’s just fine; he’d tell me if he weren’t.” 

“It’s hard … knowing that he’s Peter’s now,” Derek murmured looking down and shoulders rounding a little in defeat. 

“When you’re _not_ ,” Stiles added. “Yeah, I know. It kinda sucks. He told me about his dealings with Paige, you know.” 

“Did he lie a lot?” Derek asked bitterly. 

“He said a lot, or wrote a lot, rather, but I don’t think he lied.” Stiles turned and grabbed his writing pad. “I made some notes and tried to align your timelines of events. They mostly match up, but there are some big holes in there, probably because of the peace summit thing your mom had going on. Do you … do you want to know?” 

Derek looked up from his folded hands in shock. 

“Don't look at me like that, I find out things! And not like, right now, but soonish? I need to dig up some more info and make a presentation you can follow, but I could tell you, if you don’t want to talk to Peter.” Stiles licked his dry bottom lip. “It’s not great, but it’s not … he didn’t do it to hurt you, is all. Okay?” 

“I … I don’t know.” Derek rose to his feet. “Sorry, but-” 

“Nah, it’s okay.” Stiles offered a somewhat tight smile. “I understand. We can hang out another time. G’night, Sourwolf.” 

Derek glanced at him. “Goodnight, Stiles.” 

A second later he was gone and Stiles’ fingers found the charm around his neck and traced the polished corners over and over until the little piece of obsidian was warmed through. 

  
  


**End of part 15**


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, the long awaited meeting between Stiles and Scott. If you feel what I feel then you're on the right track, I think. ;) 
> 
> Thanks for all of your wonderful comments and stay safe!

**Part 16**

  
  


Derek’s gift steered Stiles into a new direction, magic-wise. He searched the spell book for protective spells and found one that was a combination of good luck charm and ward against evil. The good thing was that the spell wasn’t at all hard to do. The less good thing was that it needed to be anchored somewhere, be it an object or in the skin via a tattoo. 

Stiles decided against the tattoo almost immediately because he was very certain that there were far more powerful wards out there that'd be a much better return in tattoo investment, he just didn’t know of them yet. But he could do charms for necklaces or bespell other items that someone could reasonably be expected to carry around daily. 

Like a cell phone, for example, or a wallet. 

Stiles spent all of Saturday trying out the spell on various items around his room. First went the binder with his Bite Negotiation (which had long since acquired a new title page, featuring _Pack Negotiations_ in obnoxious curly cursive), then Stiles bespelled his pillow and, when that didn’t explode, his own phone as well as a woven bracelet with a little seashell his mom had bought him during their one long vacation by the sea. He hadn’t worn it after her death, but now it felt right to give it a purpose. 

This time, there was no visual effect telling Stiles that it had worked, but unlike with the pebbles, he could feel the energy humming softly in the items he’d treated. 

Now he just needed to go around the house and repeat as needed, and then he’d buy some stuff so he could give his father and friends some on-skin protection as well. 

oOo

Isaac was looking at Stiles askance when Stiles handed out bracelets during lunch. It was a bright day and pretty warm for early April, perfect for sitting outside and getting some fresh air. It was a welcome distraction from the coming confrontation with Scott. 

“Friendship bracelets?” Erica asked, excited. “Thank you! Mine is so pretty!” She admired the lilac woven band and the brass coin that had a little cat stamped on it. “What’s yours like, Boyd?” 

“Still with the bear, Stilinski,” Boyd said. He eyed the dark blue bracelet. “Do I have to wear it?” 

Stiles shrugged. “Nah, but you can, you know.” 

Isaac helped Erica put hers on and then held his wrist out for her to tie his around it. It was turquoise with a few small gold pellets woven into the band and whitish bone piece that depicted a wolf. 

“Yours looks a bit different,” Erica said and pointed at Stiles’ bracelet. “It’s older, isn’t it?” 

“My mom got it for me during a vacation,” Stiles said. He traced the faintly washed out dark brown band, tapping the little pieces of turquoise stone, and the white abalone shell. “Summer’s coming, and you guys are cool, so I thought why not?” 

“I’m not taking mine off ever again,” Erica declared. She looked so happy that for this alone the work and small expense were worth it to Stiles. 

“Yeah, me neither,” Isaac said easily, nudging Stiles with his knee under the table. “Thanks.” 

Boyd put his in his pocket, but Stiles was unconcerned. He’d either wear it or he wouldn’t, but for now Stiles had done the best he could to offer some protection. 

He also wanted to give one to Lydia - he had, in fact, made several more good luck charms already - but knew that he’d have to tread very carefully there. 

Across the schoolyard, Scott was keeping an eye on their group, but both Isaac and Stiles took care not to say anything of interest, and when they left school to head to Sweetland, he made no attempt at stalking them to the parking lot. 

Stiles wished he knew of a way to fry all electronics but his own in the jeep, because he just couldn’t believe that the Argents weren’t trying to get the drop on him so shortly before the meeting with Scott. It was getting ridiculous, but it was also scary in a very real, bone-chilling way. 

Possible listening devices meant a half hour drive of talking about mundane stuff, which Stiles usually didn’t mind in the least. However, right now he felt that time was running away from them and he wished that he could talk with Isaac about the things that mattered. 

Training went as usual, which for Stiles meant that he was completely wiped afterwards, and feeling like the clumsiest failure to ever clumse and fail. 

“You’re getting better,” Isaac told him on their way to the diner. “Everybody falls a lot in the beginning.” 

“Yeah, but not everybody nearly hammers the sensei’s eye out with their elbow while doing so,” Stiles sighed. “I really need my chocolate milkshake today to stroke my bruised ego.” 

To both their surprise, Peter was in the diner and waved them over to his booth as they entered. It was way in the back and out of the way, and there was a small device sitting beside the napkin holder. 

“Hello, kids,” he said pleasantly, giving Isaac a long rub along the arm and Stiles a nod. “This is a scrambler, to disturb any listening devices. The Argents’ interest in you is getting a little overboard, Stiles.” 

“The sounds this thing produces are horrible,” Isaac groaned. He rubbed his ear. “Ow.” 

“Needs must, unfortunately,” Peter said. His eyes fell to the charm Stiles was wearing around his neck. “I see that someone’s been by and giving out another gift.” He sniffed the air delicately. “Can’t say I like it overmuch, but it does have its place.” 

“He smells like he’s only half there,” Isaac complained. “Can’t you do something so this thing will only mute the magic smell?” 

“I can try,” Stiles replied, snagging a napkin and folding it nervously into a swan. “Why are you here, Peter? You’re not checking up on Isaac’s eating habits, are you?” 

“Hardly,” Peter said. He stopped when the waitress came over and delivered three juicy cheeseburgers. Once she was gone again, he slid a large envelope across the table. “I’ve come to give you some pictures I’ve taken of Argent’s men. They’re … volatile, to say the least. There are weapon shipments of an unclear nature, as well as an influx of heavily trained and armed men into our charming town. I trust that your father will know how to act.” 

“He sure does,” Stiles said and put the envelope into his backpack. “I, uh, might have something for you as well.” Even more nervous, now that he was about to give out the spelled bracelet to Peter directly instead of via Isaac, he took the white and smoke-blue one out of his pocket and held it out. 

Peter accepted it, eyes glowing slightly in response to the touch of magic. “My, how positively _charming_.” He inspected the intricate weave of the sturdy hemp string and the black, polished onyx beads. His brass coin showed a howling wolf. On the backside, Stiles had scratched in the Hale triskelion to denote Peter’s status as the alpha. “Would you do the honours?” 

He held out his wrist to Stiles and the teen did his best not to fumble the knotting of the loose strings. 

“There,” Stiles said, tugging on the bracelet. “All tied up.” 

Peter smiled, slow and wolfish. “Hm, yes.” 

Isaac made a weird sound deep in his throat and leaned over his burger. “Can we eat now?” 

“Certainly,” Peter said, still smirking. “I’m all done with the business part of the meeting.” 

Stiles shrugged. “Yeah, me too. Thanks for the food.” 

They ate their fill, slurped down a milkshake each, and then Peter scented both Isaac and Stiles via a loose man hug before sauntering off like he didn’t have a care in the world. 

It was hilarious how the waitresses collectively hated to see him leave, but loved to watch him go. 

oOo

There was no chance of getting Lydia alone because Jackson was always around her. Stiles was glad for her sake, he was, but he could do without the audience when trying to give her a good luck charm. 

“Dude, just give Jackson one, too,” Isaac said on Tuesday after he’d roughly manhandled Stiles into a seat next to him. “Would be worth it just to see his stupid face.” 

That lifted Stiles’ mood and he smirked. “How right you are.” 

“Why are you giving Lydia a bracelet?” Erica asked cautiously. “We don’t have to be nice to her, do we?” 

Stiles shook his head. “She probably won’t accept it, but I just … she had a shitty month and I just wanted to do something nice for her. Her friends aren’t really there, you know?” 

Erica looked back over to Lydia and narrowed her eyes. “Now that you mention it, she _has_ been alone a lot yesterday.” Her expression cleared and she smiled. “Good luck. You’ll have to go through Whittemore, though.” 

“I’ve got that covered,” Stiles said smugly. He leaned into Isaac and stole one of his homemade chicken nuggets. “Anyway, Erica, I’m through with your Superior mag.” 

“Oh, goodie, I was beginning to miss it,” she joked. “Did you like it?” 

“Yeah, and it got me thinking. If you could pick a superpower without selling your soul for it, what would it be?” Stiles asked. 

Erica grinned. “Always with the difficult questions, Stiles! I dunno … being strong would be cool. I hate heights, so flying is out, and invisibility is overrated, but beating douchebags up is right up my alley.” 

“You’d also make a fantastic human slinky,” Stiles teased her. 

“I’d much rather be Wonder Woman. What’s your poison, Batman?” 

“Maybe I’d choose magic,” Stiles declared, earning himself a cuff with Isaac’s elbow. “Dr. Strange is my favourite, after Iron Man.” 

“I thought Batman was your favourite?” Boyd asked, pausing in his mechanical eating of the less than appetizing cafeteria food. 

“He’s my favourite D.C. hero, but I’m really a Marvel fanboy,” Stiles told him, alight with sudden energy when he spied his friendship bracelet under the other teen’s long shirt sleeve. “Therefore, Iron Man and Dr. Strange. Strange’s cloak is something else.” Stiles mimed holding his hands out and shooting spells, which made Erica laugh gaily. 

“I don’t think I’d have the patience for all that studying,” she admitted after calming down a little. “Like I said, Wonder Woman’s powers would be cool.” 

“That’s a good choice, even though she probably studies like mad to stay on top of her career,” Stiles said and finally took out his own lunch box. It wasn’t nearly as good as Isaac or Erica’s food, but he’d tried cooking an easy recipe from the book on proper nutrition Peter had given him for his birthday and it hadn’t been a disaster. Even his dad had declared it edible and packed half of the leftovers for his own lunch. 

“What about you, Boyd?” Isaac said, warming to the topic despite his annoyance at Stiles’ brashness. “What’s your superhero power?” 

“I like the Hulk,” Boyd said shortly. 

“Because you’re sort of huge?” Stiles asked, scrunching up his nose. “Come on, that’s too easy.” 

“Banner is smart, too,” Boyd defended his choice stoically. 

“Well, being kind of indestructible has its advantages,” Erica said and leaned against Boyd for a second. “But I’d be creeped out by some other being sharing my body.” 

Boyd merely shrugged and finished his food. 

Coming to the conclusion that he must be poor or something, because no one really liked the school food, Stiles decided that he’d cook more next time and force-feed Boyd with it. It was a tragedy to see the guy chow down on ‘mystery meat’ that Isaac was swearing up and down was a lot of things, but not conventional meat from Earth. 

The good thing was that Erica was already laying the foundation for him, pushing over half an apple here or some leftover vegetables there. Stiles would merely escalate it further. 

“I know that face,” Isaac murmured as they walked through the hallways to class. “You’ve adopted Boyd.” 

“I had to. You’ve seen what the guy is eating.” Stiles shuddered. “I have no idea how he’s not suffering from scurvy.” 

“That’s rich, coming from someone who’s able to inhale a whole bag of doritos in one go,” Isaac snorted. 

“I’ll have you know that I’ve gotten a lot better lately,” Stiles replied with a sniff. “Anyway, I’ve wanted to get better at cooking anyway, it’s no trouble.” 

“We can rotate,” Isaac offered after a moment. “But, start small. He probably won’t accept charity.” 

“Nope, not that one,” Stiles agreed. “Thanks for bringing me.” 

Isaac saluted and left for his own class with only a couple of minutes to spare to get there. 

oOo

Wednesday came far too early. Even though Stiles had set up everything he could - bugs, mountain ash in strategic locations both laid out and in pouches, and even a police taser - he felt threatened just knowing that Scott would be there soon. 

He would be there while his father wouldn’t, because he was having the late shift this week. 

_Well done, Argent, your plan worked out after all_ , Stiles thought bitterly. 

It was crippling how uncomfortable the mere idea of his former best friend suddenly was. 

A few minutes past six the doorbell rang and Stiles went to open it. As he slouched slightly, giving off an air of relaxation, his free hand was stuffed deeply into his hoodie pocket, clenching around a baggie of mountain ash. In his back pocket, his phone was on, both recording and on call with Peter, who had muted his end so no sound would alert Scott to his virtual presence. 

“Hey Stiles,” Scott greeted, sunny smile on his face. He looked like nothing had changed between them and it was jarring. “It’s been ages since we hung out.” 

“Yeah, well,” Stiles said, almost by rote. “You know, life gets in the way and stuff. Come in.” 

Since the house was empty anyway, Stiles led him into the living room. The TV was on and his PS4 set up … and there was more room to manoeuver, should Scott lose his temper. 

“It smells like Isaac’s been here,” Scott remarked, sniffing loudly. “You becoming buds now?” 

“We’ve been buds for a while,” Stiles said with a shrug. _As you well know, Mr. Peeps-a-lot_. He plopped down on the couch and took up a controller. “You’ve been busy with Allison. I have to say, I wonder how you can still be with her, since she’s from a family of werewolf murderers and stuff.” 

“She’s different,” Scott said, a touch of sharpness in his voice. 

“So she’s sworn off shooting defenceless people with arrows then? That’s good for her.” Stiles couldn’t help himself. “You’d hate to see her arrested for that, I’m sure.” 

“Stiles, I haven’t come to talk about Allison,” Scott said. He sat and took the second controller, but his fingers were twitchy and a muscle in his jaw was ticking. “I want to talk about what you did that night, in the preserve. When you helped the alpha get away.” 

“I told you why I did it,” Stiles countered, trying to keep his stress level low and his voice even. “I yelled it, even. Really loudly, too.” 

“You let him get away,” Scott insisted, looking more hurt than anything. “When you knew that killing him was my only chance at becoming human again, you helped him.” 

“As I said, Derek was lying to you. Killing the alpha won’t make you human again. It’d just make you a murderer, Scotty,” Stiles said, starting the game. “Better yet, you doing it together with the Argents will make them murderers, too. Well, more of one, I guess, since they’ve already murdered most of the Hales. Plus, they’re really effing lying their socks off if they continue to spout that bullshit. Or did you think no bitten hunter ever killed the alpha that bit them? Please.” 

“You can’t prove that!” Scott blurted out. “Besides, Mr. Argent told me that what they did to the Hales was self-defence, really.” 

Stiles couldn’t believe his ears. “What?” 

“Allison’s grandpa said that Kate was afraid for her life after finding out what Derek was,” Scott said. “Just like Ally was afraid when she learned about me! It happens!” 

“She almost killed you with arrows!” Stiles shouted, unable to endure the stupidity any longer. It was like Scott was selectively deaf. “Do you get that? Her insane aunt whispered in her ear for literally five minutes and she nearly killed you! That’s the girl you’re defending? Really?” 

“She’s sorry,” Scott said heatedly. “And her parents are coming around. They know I’m not dangerous.” 

“You’re not dangerous _to them_ because you want to bone their fucking daughter,” Stiles hissed. “But you’re dangerous to others if you keep listening to them, do you get that! You’re dangerous _to me_!” 

“I wouldn’t hurt you!” Scott cried. He put the controller down and balled his hands to fists. “You know I wouldn’t.” 

“And why are you avoiding me, then? Why are you stalking me like a crazy lunatic, and listening in to every conversation I’m having with my friends? Why are you hanging out with _murderers_ who’d like to see you dead because you’re nothing more than a rabid _animal_ to them?” Stiles stopped and tried to breathe through his fury. “Do you honestly believe Gerard Argent isn’t using you? He’s a hunter, and one of the worst. His daughter was a fucking _kindergartener_ compared to him.” 

“How do you know that?” Scott demanded. “You know nothing about them. All they want is help me! And I need you to help me, too. You’ve got to tell me where the alpha is.” 

“I already told you that I won’t help you kill him because what Derek told you is a freaking old wives’ tale,” Stiles replied. “I don’t know what you think you can achieve with this talk. All you do is beat the same dead horse.” 

“You don’t need to really help me with anything. I just need to know where I can find him,” Scott implored. “We’re friends, you need to let me have this chance! Even if it’s a really small one! Once I’m human again, Allison’s family will let me be with her.” 

“You’re literally willing to murder for a girl,” Stiles said, shocked to his core. “A girl you’ve known for about ten minutes.” 

“It’s been three months.” Scott’s already slightly crooked jaw got even more crooked as the muscles clenched due to his unhappiness. “I love her, and I’ll do what I have to do to be with her.” 

“Oh my god,” Stiles muttered. “You’re an idiot. Scotty, do you hear yourself talking? _You’re planning on murdering a person_. At sixteen years old! Your mom would flip her shit if she knew! Never mind my dad!” 

“Peter Hale’s not really a person, though, is he? He’s a monster, he _made_ me into a monster.” Scott’s eyes flared up now, their colour a pretty yellowish amber. “Stiles, I want my life back! Help me!” 

“And if I don’t?” Stiles asked, exhausted from being so angry. “The way I see it I already helped you. I tried to help you accept what you are now and I barely even shouted at you when you tried you kill me.” 

“It’s the least you could do,” Scott growled, glowing eyes now framed by his scowl and a hint of his wolf face. “It’s _your_ fault I went into the preserve that night. If not for you, I’d still be normal. Mr. Argent says so, too.” 

“Oh, if Mr. Argent says so it must be true,” Stiles mocked. “You’re being short-sighted and dumb, Scott. Peter Hale could’ve bitten me just as well as you. It was pure chance that he chose you! I’m sorry that it was you - I’ll always be sorry for that - but have you ever stopped and thought about what the bite has given you?” 

Scott bared his teeth in a snarl. “I don’t want it.” 

Stiles scoffed. “You’re _such_ a liar. You’re fit and healthy now, you’ve got friends and a hot girlfriend. You got bitten by the radioactive spider and all you do is whine.” 

“This is the real world!” Scott roared. “I’ll never be a superhero because superheroes don’t exist!” 

“And yet here you are, hearty and hale,” Stiles said with no small amount of derision. “You’ve got superhero powers now, man. You were always going on about how to be a better guy - a _good_ guy - and all you really want is a) throw it away again and b) help some sort of icky supervillain to murder someone, to boot. Not cool, Scotty, not cool.” 

That made Scott pause, at least. “I never asked for those powers.” 

“No superhero ever does,” Stiles countered with an eye roll. “They even come to hate it every now and then, which is understandable, but overall they _deal_. What you got out of it, man … I’d do a lot to have that. You can deal as well. Easily. Don’t be a moron and throw it all away because some creepy old dude tells you to.” 

“Mr. Argent _is_ sort of creepy,” Scott admitted, finally giving up his scowl and the glowing eyes. “But he’s Ally’s family, and I really feel like he wants what’s best for us. I want to be with her, Stiles, and for that I have to be human. I just _have_ to.” 

“Dude, she’s just one girl of four billion in the world.” Stiles sighed and relaxed his tense shoulders a little. There was no use in pointing out that Scott was desperate to more or less join a clan of psychopaths. He’d pointed that one out often enough without any understanding on Scott’s part. “You’re sixteen, what do we know of true love, anyway?” 

Scott slumped on the sofa. “You sound like Derek. Like, did he give you that talk, too?” 

Stiles snorted. “He didn’t have to when I have my dad. You do remember the temp teacher speech he gives us every year, right?” 

“Right … But.” 

Turning away under the pretense of snagging a water bottle, Stiles rolled his eyes again. “But?” 

“But I still love her,” Scott burst out. “So much. I can’t help it, and I don’t want to try. I want to be human for her. Stiles … can’t you help me? Just a location, or even half of one. Please?” 

“Scotty … that’d make me an accessory to murder,” Stiles said carefully, feeling almost like a broken record as he repeated himself yet again. “To _murder_. Someone will _die_ if I tell you. My dad, _the sheriff_ , frowns really fucking hard upon things like that. I hate to say no to you, because you’re my brother, man, but with this I have to. I’m not gonna go to prison for you over that. And even if it never came out, I couldn’t live with myself.” 

Scott sat on the sofa for long, long moments, face blank and shoulders a little slumped. 

“You alright?” Stiles asked carefully. “We’ll deal with it, I promise. Everything will be okay.” 

“Yeah,” Scott answered, quiet and a little withdrawn. He got up and stuffed his hands into his jeans pockets. “Everything will be alright.” 

He left then and Stiles’ stomach felt like it’d would erupt under the strength of the bad feeling rumbling there. 

  
  


**End of part 16**


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, I didn't get around to anything in this chapter, I swear. Just talky stuff which is a bit important and sort of a lot self-indulgent. 
> 
> You'll deal, I'm sure. :p

**Part 17**

  
  


The bad feeling didn’t go away. Not on Thursday, when Stiles saw neither Scott nor Allison the whole day, nor on Friday, when Principal Argent made a lame attempt at keeping him after school but let him leave when Stiles made an equally lame excuse for not being able to stay. 

What helped a little was, surprisingly, Derek’s sneak visit on Friday night. The werewolf looked tense and tired, which was nothing new, but in that moment Stiles felt the overwhelming need to make it better for at least one of them. He put on music, closed the blinds in the house, and then dragged Derek to the kitchen, where he made him help cook two whole baking sheets of zucchini pizza boats. The zucchini was stuffed to the gills with ground beef, vegetables and a light tomato sugo and topped with a thick layer of mozzarella. 

“Feel better now?” Stiles asked once the food was in the oven. 

Derek shrugged. 

Not giving up so easily, Stiles put him to work again, this time sending him to the sink to wash and cut up two pounds of strawberries. For himself he took the huge tub of mascarpone cream and began to stir some cream and honey into it to soften it up. 

Of course Derek was sneaking bites every now and then, just like Stiles had intended. The fruity sweetness helped him relax a little more, and by the time dinner was ready an hour later, the hunted look had mostly vanished from Derek’s face. 

“Is this still about Paige?” Stiles asked, putting an overflowing plate in front of Derek. “In which case I’ll shut up now.” 

“No, not really.” Derek poked the steaming zucchini with his fork, allowing some of the trapped heat to escape from under all that cheese. His luminous eyes found Stiles’. “I’m worried about _you_. I listened to the recording of your meeting.” 

“I’m honestly a little surprised that the phone call didn’t drop after Scott came inside,” Stiles said, rubbing his suddenly freezing arms. “On the other hand Gerard might have left it to draw Peter out. He clearly suspects something.” 

“Peter’s almost certain that this is the plan,” Derek murmured. “You need to watch out for yourself.” 

“I’ve done nothing else since the whole werewolf shebang started,” Stiles told him. “I’ll have you know that I’m developing PTSD-like symptoms.” 

Derek looked absolutely stricken at that information. “I didn’t know. You seem to deal so well with everything.” 

“I’m still only a squishy human,” Stiles said, stabbing his zucchini boat viciously. “Something will have to give. I can’t do this forever.” 

Looking down, Derek seemed to fall into himself. “I can leave.” 

Stiles’ mouth dropped open at the ridiculous offer. “What, why?” 

“If you need a break from the supernatural, I should let you have some peace and quiet.” 

“No, dude. I don’t need a break from _that_!” Stiles groaned. “I meant the whole being stalked and threatened thing, not the supernatural thing. I just want to be able to go out without having a shadow because some geriatric psychopath wants to use me as werewolf bait. You have seen Gerard Argent, yes? He looks like a Halloween special and could probably beat me up really badly! Of course I’m twitchy as all hell.” 

“Oh.” Derek straightened a little. “Okay.” 

“I know that you’re watching out for me. Thanks for that, Sourwolf. I appreciate it,” Stiles went on. “Uhm, I gave everyone else theirs already, so here, if you want it …” He pulled the bracelet he’d bespelled especially for Derek from his pocket and held it out. “It’s not a lot, but some good luck never hurt anyone, right?” It wasn’t just a good luck charm and a ward against evil, however, but a blessing for emotional healing as well. Stiles figured that Derek needed that last one desperately. 

The werewolf accepted the gift with careful fingers. Just like Peter he turned the bracelet over, taking in the purple and gold hemp strands, the turquoise beads, and the large brass coin depicting a wolf. 

“Thank you,” he said quietly, rubbing his thumb over one of the beads, likely chasing the soothing magic imbued in it. His eyes flickered a startling blue for a moment. “Can you put it on?” 

“Sure, gimme your paw.” Stiles couldn’t help his pleased smile as he tied the bracelet around Derek’s wrist. “It suits you.” 

Privately, Stiles had already made plans to make more charmed bracelets, this time for the ankles. The hunters weren’t stupid, they’d catch on eventually, but from what Derek had told him about their torturing methods, removing shoes _and_ socks was rare, so they could be hidden there easily. 

“Your taste in music is … random,” Derek suddenly said. He scrunched up his forehead a little at Aqua’s _Barbie Girl_. 

“I’m sure the peeps listening in will appreciate it,” Stiles retorted, smirking. He cut a piece of zucchini from the overflowing boat on his plate and blew on it. “You gonna eat your food or what?” 

Derek did eat it. In fact, he inhaled the four pizza boats Stiles had crammed onto his plate and went back for another four directly afterwards. He was even courteous enough to get them both some water from the fridge, too, and mumbled a compliment in between chews. 

“Your creeper uncle is obsessive with the healthy food, but I gotta admit that I like the recipes in his book so far,” Stiles said and rubbed his slightly bulging stomach. “Coffee?” 

Derek nodded and Stiles made them both large cups of coffee which they took upstairs, together with a helping of strawberries and sweetened mascarpone. 

“I’ll roll out of here later,” Derek confessed after they’d settled on Stiles’ bed. “I’m so full.” 

Eyeing the man’s muscles, Stiles said, “I seriously doubt that. Your Hulk bod will burn through it in an hour or so. One movie and you’re good to go.” 

While Derek watched Lucky Number Slevin, Stiles did his homework and then sent a text to Peter regarding Lydia. 

He actually expected to be shot down, again, and was pleasantly surprised when Peter told him to expect him the next afternoon instead. 

“You smell happy,” Derek commented from the bed. “Texting a girlfriend?” 

“You’d smell it on me if I had one,” Stiles huffed, “but thanks for inferring that I could have one. No, it’s Peter. We’re gonna talk about Lydia tomorrow.” 

“She the one Peter put in the hospital,” Derek asked. 

“Dude, what’s with the missing inflection?” Stiles asked, exasperated. “But yes, she is.” 

“Hm.” Derek returned to his movie and Stiles sent a short affirmative to Peter before returning to his work. 

oOo

Peter appeared the next afternoon around four, greeted the sheriff who was on his way out, and placed a bag of gourmet coffee and a French press on the kitchen counter. 

“You didn’t have to bring a gift,” Stiles said, bemused. 

“It’s for me,” Peter told him with a little smirk. “I refuse to drink the cheap brand you keep buying. I also don’t enjoy filter coffee as a rule.” 

“There’s a difference?” Stiles asked, grinning about Peter’s narrowing eyes. Inwardly, he was pleased about being spoiled a little; the coffee he’d gotten for his birthday had been _really_ good. “Fine, let’s break your fancy ass press in, then. I assume you want a cup?” 

“And some of those strawberries you have in your fridge, if it’s no trouble,” Peter said offhandedly. 

_Nope, nothing is getting past those guys_ , Stiles thought, oddly charmed at how at home Peter seemed to feel in his little dated kitchen. He put the kettle on and got the strawberries and mascarpone from the fridge.

While Stiles was preparing their snack, Peter looked around and listened carefully. “Your music is atrocious. I’ll be glad when that finally stops.” 

“I like my playlist, but some of it is a little cringe-worthy,” Stiles admitted. He measured spoonfuls of coffee into the rinsed French press, poured hot water and then put on the top. While the coffee was steeping, he prepared two bowls of mascarpone and strawberries for them. “Do you drink yours black like your soul, or would you like some sugar and cream?” 

“Sugar would be lovely,” Peter replied, showing a little fang as he grinned appreciatively. “Even my black soul needs some flavour.” 

Stiles got out the brown sugar his dad preferred and pushed the bowl over to the werewolf. Cups followed, then the cream. It was weirdly domestic, playing host to a nominally sane murderer. 

Finally the coffee was done and Stiles carefully pressed down on the French press. “You might be onto something,” he admitted as he breathed in the heady aroma of the brew and watched the swirling liquid. “Just look at those colours.” 

Peter’s eyes flashed red and he looked unbearably smug. “There’s a lot I can teach you about the little pleasures in life.” 

“If it’s about food, count me in,” Stiles said, glancing at the other man and curling his lips to hide his grin. If Peter wanted to be a lech, Stiles would frustrate him by misinterpreting his comments. It wasn’t like the man wasn’t deriving some perverse sort of pleasure from their banter. 

Just like he’d done the night before with Derek, Stiles led Peter into his room. He’d cleaned it a little and even changed the bedding in deference to a werewolf’s sensitive nose. 

For a few minutes they just enjoyed their treats but soon enough it was time to speak about the sore topic between them. 

“So, I know that you don’t like talking about Lydia, but I really think we have to,” Stiles began. 

Peter looked at him, patient but calculating. 

Nervously, Stiles went on, “You really hurt her for practically no reason, and you know that she didn’t die from your bite. That means she’s turned and we have an obligation to take care of her.” 

“She didn’t turn,” Peter said. “I checked.” 

“She … what?” Stiles stared at him. “But you said it’d kill a human if the bite didn’t turn them.” 

“In 99% of cases that’s true.” Peter put his empty bowl onto Stiles’ desk and leaned forward so his elbows rested on his knees. “But sometimes a werewolf’s bite does neither turn nor kill. Sometimes it awakens something _other_ in the human.” 

“Like what?” Stiles asked, breathless. 

“I have no idea, regrettably,” Peter confessed, “but it’s definitely supernatural. Nothing else would save a human from certain death by bite rejection. I have books that spin stories about fantastic beasts and where to find them, but right now I have no earthly idea what dear Lydia might have evolved into.” 

“Dude, you just made a Harry Potter reference,” Stiles whispered, feeling sucker-punched. “Are there really such books? Can I read them?” 

“I’m in the process of digitizing them. If you’re a very good boy, I might give you access to the data.” Peter cocked his head a little, considering Stiles. “What’s that girl to you? You’re not around her for any length of time, and during your phone talks there’s no warmth between you. It’s a little sad.” 

Stiles huffed. “I worship her, okay, because she’s gorgeous and smart. It doesn’t automatically follow that she feels the same for me.” 

“She’s a terribly vapid individual,” Peter countered, not impressed. “As evidenced by her choice in boyfriends. It’s a good thing you put Whittemore on the blacklist, because he’s a disaster waiting to happen.” 

“I actually think he wants to do better, but yeah. That one doesn’t need claws and no eyebrows.” 

Peter’s face morphed into its wolf features. “Say again?” 

“I’m not gonna lie to your face, almost-Alpha mine,” Stiles said with an eye roll. “Your eyebrows just vanished, that’s not alright. The laws of both physics and biology are weeping every time you do your freaky shift thing.” 

With a twist of his head, Peter returned to his human appearance. He seemed faintly put out, but not truly insulted. “Not too long ago you were eager to share those traits.” 

Stiles smirked. “Everyday there’s something new for the con column.” Sobering, he added, “I just like her and I don’t want her to hurt anymore. If she’s changed into whatever, we’ve got to help her through it. It’s the decent thing to do.” 

“She might not want my help,” Peter said lowly. “And I’ve got no interest in having her near my pack.” 

“Well, tough.” Stiles crossed his arms in front of his chest and jutted out his jaw stubbornly. “You bit her, you deal with the consequences. Since you’re not insane anymore you can’t just not claim responsibility.” 

“I don’t like how she divides your attention,” Peter growled. “I should’ve killed her.” 

“You definitely should _not_ have killed her,” Stiles growled back, getting up from the bed and leaning over Peter. “If you had, those molotovs would have found their mark and you’d have _burned_. I’m not a poster boy for morality, but I draw the fucking line at letting people die who’re important to me.” 

They glared at each other, the air charged with aggression. 

“You mean nothing to her,” Peter hissed. “She suffers you because she has no one else right now.” 

“I _know_. Even so, she’s important to me and you don’t need to know any more than that,” Stiles hissed back. “This is not negotiable. It becomes negotiable if - _if!_ \- my people ever do dumb things and need to be stopped. Even then, killing is such a last resort that I’d rather let everything else fall apart than hurt them.” 

Peter’s eyes were so red they were practically burning and his fangs had dropped, this time not at all playfully. 

Stiles wiped a hand over his face, feeling like he was on the brink of a huge explosion. He wanted to defuse the situation but didn’t know how without becoming a pushover. Other issues might be alright to discuss and compromise on, but not Lydia. Never Lydia. 

“If it helps, you’re sorta my person as well now,” Stiles offered, balling his trembling hands to fists. “I wouldn’t actually burn you. That’d be super shitty.” 

Peter’s eyes remained bright red and on Stiles’ face but at least he listened. 

“I’d probably off you with a gun and wolfsbane bullets, or mountain ash,” Stiles went on, beginning to sweat and fidget. “Something quick and painless. If that’s a comfort.” 

“It’s actually not,” Peter growled. “I refuse to die over some redheaded _bint_ that’s turned your head.” 

“Then don’t give me a reason!” Stiles burst out. “My god, one would think you’re somewhat acquaintanced with teenage obsessions!” 

“Careful now, Stiles.” Peter stood and advanced threateningly. “Don’t liken your situation to Derek’s. Paige at least was as infatuated with him as he was with her. That Martin girl doesn’t give you the time of day. She’ll _never_ acknowledge your worth.” 

_Unlike me_ , went unsaid, but Stiles, amazingly, heard it loud and clear. 

“Uhm,” Stiles said, suddenly embarrassed and blushing hotly for it. He scratched the back of his head and looked away. “I know that. I’m not actually stupid, you know.” 

Peter took in a huge breath of ear, clearly scenting the heated air above Stiles’ skin. “Oh, I know. Which is why it _infuriates_ me how much you protect that stupid girl.” 

“Can we agree on a ceasefire when it comes to her?” Stiles asked. “I want, no, I need to give her a charm bracelet, and I guess Jackson, too, if I want her to actually wear it. She needs _help_ , Peter. Who knows what she might do with her new powers or whatever she manifests. It’s not safe.” 

For a long moment, Peter pondered this, his intense gaze still making Stiles’ fair skin burn. 

“Yes to the charm bracelet,” the werewolf finally decided, still growly. “Everything else has to wait until the Argent situation is dealt with.” 

“But we will get back to it?” Stiles asked, cautiously hopeful. 

Peter took another step closer and placed a clawed hand on the broad side of Stiles’ neck. “We will, because you’re worth it. But don’t make the mistake of ever thinking that _she’s_ worth anything to me.” 

“I can live with that,” Stiles said roughly. He dared to look up into Peter’s eyes and gulped at the hard look in them. “As long as we clean up that mess. She really deserves better than that.” 

For a while longer, Peter’s warm hand pressed against Stiles’ neck, but then he stepped back and released the teen from his overwhelming presence. “I won’t make you prove it … much. But I do require that you keep a cool head.” 

“I’ll try my best,” Stiles murmured, itching to stretch his neck which was feeling positively branded. “Thanks.” 

“You’re welcome,” Peter replied and he definitely sounded like he meant it. 

**End of part 17**


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun dun. :)

**Part 18**

  
  


Once that course of action had been agreed upon, Peter toned down his posturing and took a turn about Stiles’ room. He looked at photos of his family and the few framed documents hanging on the walls. 

“You won several spelling bees,” Peter said and turned to smirk at Stiles. “That’s just charming.” 

“I’ve always been a motor mouth,” Stiles answered with a shrug. “It’s good for some things, at least.” 

“I imagine that it’d be good for a great many things,” Peter hummed, clasping his hands behind his back and strolling onwards. “Your mother was a beauty. I can see why your father would try to drown his sorrows in alcohol.” 

“Can we not?” Stiles muttered. 

“It’s a sore topic. I understand. But Stiles,” and Peter turned to look at the teen with an expression somewhere between mocking and genuine care, “in a pack we carry each other’s burdens. You know all my woes - you’ve not given my nephew or I much choice, if I recall correctly - and it is only fair that we know yours.” 

“Mom’s … let’s just not go there right now,” Stiles said. “It’s got nothing to do with our current dilemma.” 

“Fair enough,” Peter allowed. He sat down next to Stiles, his shoulder pressing warmly against Stiles’. “But it’s not tabled permanently. You know our weaknesses only pack should know. Derek and I need the same insurance, in case things ever go sour between us.” 

“They aren’t exactly sweet right now, either.” But Stiles didn’t draw back from the man. Instead, he leaned a little more into that strong shoulder, testing whether it would really carry his weight. 

“They will be,” Peter said confidently, curling his arm half around Stiles and placing his palm flat on his shoulder blade. “Whether it appears like it or not, but you’re working hard on it.” 

“You do, too,” Stiles admitted. He felt unsettled about that sudden left turn in their conversation. 

Then, Peter changed the topic again, saying, “The Failure is a loose cannon. I’m fully expecting either him or Gerard to pull a stunt to draw me out.” 

“God, I know.” Stiles buried his face in his hands. “Scott was so creepy. What should I do?” 

“Except being on your guard and kitted out as well as can be, nothing.” Peter leaned over and very lightly touched the tip of his nose to Stiles’ hairline, scenting him. “You won’t be able to find out what they’ve got planned. The Failure won’t talk to you, and neither will his little girlfriend.” 

“But waiting around isn’t my thing,” Stiles whined. “I want this shit show to be over already so I can get on with life.” 

“Hypothetically asking, how appalled would you be if I took preventive measures?” 

Stiles turned his head, which put him nose to nose with the other man. “How preventive are we talking here?” 

“Hypothetically speaking,” Peter murmured. 

“Yeah, yeah. So?” 

“I do not have a secure handle yet on what you’re willing to go along with to keep the pack safe,” Peter said, “but I thought about taking Gerard out swiftly when he least expects it.” 

“An ambush?” Stiles was inexplicably disappointed. “I thought that was for small fish like the morons who aided Kate.” 

“Some werewolves might find it to be so, but I’ve never been one of them.” Peter raised his chin and continued his feather-soft scenting on the other side of Stiles’ face. “If dear Kate’s cowardly attack has taught me anything it’s that it’s better to do away with a threat as quickly and unexpectedly as possible, to minimize the risk of injury or worse.” 

Stiles’ nose was full of Peter’s cologne. That subtle, strangely appealing scent was so unlike what his dad was wearing that it was almost jarring. 

“Well? What is your judgement?” Peter prodded, hand burning its warmth into Stiles’ shoulder and his breath stirring the hair on Stiles’ temple. 

Stiles needed a moment to clear his thoughts. “Er, well, if it’s only Gerard, I guess I can get behind it … but I’d still feel icky about it. I mean, it’s still doing away with a person, you know? Even if said person is a blight on humanity.” 

“He’s a terrible blight,” Peter agreed. “I overheard what you said to Derek, you know. How you’re allowed to be glad if a bad person is no longer there to hurt other people.” He drew back, showing Stiles his glowing eyes. “I happen to agree. Gerard has hurt enough innocent people, and I won’t allow him to hurt you.” 

“Do you have a plan?” Stiles asked, subdued. In the cocoon of Peter’s nearness it didn’t seem quite real that they were discussing murder, and his acceptance of its necessity. 

“I do.” Peter reached around and found Stiles’ phone. Subtly, the volume of the music lowered, just a hair, before he continued, “I’ll follow Gerard around during the next days and look for an opening. He won’t leave this town if I can help it. His family has done enough harm. And when I’m done with him, I’ll go after dear Chris and Victoria, too.” 

Stiles frowned but played along. “What about Allison?” 

“That depends on her willingness to lead a normal life, I suppose,” Peter replied. “Although she should leave Beacon Hills, just to remove her from temptation.” 

“I … yeah, that might be for the best.” Stiles felt lousy, even if he was pretty sure that Peter was talking for a potential listener’s benefit. “So, my job’s to keep safe during the next few weeks?” 

“Yes. Don’t draw attention to yourself, and keep away from The Failure. If Gerard’s too well protected, I’ll be back to talk about setting a trap.” Peter smirked tellingly. “Whichever happens to be successful, I’ll be satisfied.” 

_You’re crazy_ , Stiles mouthed at Peter. 

Peter smirked in response and then rose. “I should be on my way. You still have a lot of extra credit work to complete, don’t you?” 

“Uh, yeah. Right. I’ll see you around.” Stiles got to his feet as well. “Stay safe.” 

Stepping close, Peter encircled Stiles in his arms and rubbed his cheek against Stiles’. “I will. Goodbye, Stiles.” 

Flustered, Stiles watched as Peter elegantly shimmied out of the window and vanished. 

_Since when is it so hot in here?_ , he asked himself, half knowing the answer already and really, really not caring for it. 

oOo

That evening, just before total darkness set in, the doorbell rang. Stiles, who wasn’t expecting anyone, opened the brand-new feed of the security system his dad had had installed that week and checked. 

It was Gerard Argent. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered. He took his phone and speed-dialled the station. Instead of a ring tone, there was a crackle and then silence. “What the hell?” 

The doorbell rang again, longer this time. 

“Forget it, you fucker,” Stiles hissed. He checked all the feeds and found two men lurking around the front side of the property and two more slinking into the backyard. “Oh, I’ll so get you for this.” He started a live-copy of the recording, to be sent to Peter and the station whenever the internet was live again. 

The third ringing of the bell was accompanied by loud knocking. It almost drowned out a soft noise in the hallway. Almost. 

When Peter appeared in his doorway, Stiles only jumped a little. 

“How did you get back in here?” he whispered, rolling back from his desk and wiping his sweaty hands on his jeans. “And what are we gonna do about them? I don’t think they’re here for a friendly chat, and I can’t call or text for help. Heck, I didn’t expect them to move so fast!” 

“I didn’t have to get _back_ inside since I never quite left,” Peter returned smugly. He smiled at Stiles’ creeped out expression. “You should really line the attic window with mountain ash as well. As to what we’re going to do with your unwanted visitors … why, you’ll ask them to come inside, of course. Anything else would be terribly rude. Just let me stop the recording ... that's better.” 

Stiles swallowed, suddenly knowing exactly where this was going. “Do I have to?” 

“If you value your life, then yes,” Peter said. “Play along just for a second, sweetheart.” 

“People will have seen them arrive, the whole neighbourhood is alarmed after the stunt they pulled the other night. If they aren’t seen to be leaving again-” 

“All taken care of,” Peter rumbled. He grabbed Stiles by the shirt and pushed him forward, down the stairs and in front of the entrance door. For a long moment he sniffed along Stiles’ neck, raising every hair on the teen’s arms in the process, and then rubbing his stubbly cheek across the goosefleshed skin. “Just ask him to come inside, without his shadow if you can manage.” 

Swallowing again, Stiles steeled himself for the confrontation. 

“I know that you’re home, Mr. Stilinski,” Gerard called, knocking again. “We really have to talk about your college plans, young man.” 

With some flair, Stiles opened the door and smiled sweetly. “Principal Argent! So nice to see you here on a late Saturday evening, taking all this highschool business so seriously. Do come in.” 

Gerard bared his teeth in an insincere smile. The visible one of his entourage made to follow, but Stiles blocked his path. “Nah, sorry, I won’t discuss my college plans with strangers. Buh-bye.” Without waiting for a reply, he slammed the door shut in the man’s face and turned the lock. 

“You should learn to be more accommodating,” Gerard tutted, still amused. “Some people might take umbrage at your manners. It’s only to be expected after your mother’s early demise, but not everybody will make allowances.” 

Stiles froze at the low blow. Thankfully he didn’t have to return that sally; Peter appeared right behind Gerard, eyes glowing red in the dim light of the short hallway. 

“Speaking of atrocious manners,” Peters rumbled, “you’re very cheeky coming here with the intention of hurting the sheriff’s son. It’s almost like you were raised by wolves.” 

Proving that he really was a hunter, Gerard whirled around, a pistol suddenly in his hand. Stiles shouted in shock and instinctively tried to hinder the man’s turn. 

Peter didn’t need any help, however. 

Lightning quick, even before Gerard had fully turned around, Peter’s clawed hands were clamped around Gerard’s head. A loud crack echoed through the house and suddenly Gerard’s body collapsed like a broken doll whose strings had been cut. 

Overwhelmed, Stiles stared at the body at his feet. Other than the head, which was resting at an unnatural angle, nothing indicated that this was, indeed, a dead person. 

The quietness of Gerard’s end caused ice to spread from Stiles’ stomach into his arms and legs. 

“Oh my god,” he murmured. “You just killed him.” 

“I did,” Peter acknowledged. “He came here with the intention of torturing you for information on me and Derek. I couldn’t allow him to go through with that.” 

“You killed him without a mess,” Stiles said, still absolutely stunned. He wondered whether he should feel nauseous yet, instead of just _blank_. 

“You’re welcome. I know how much you abhor a mess.” Peter looked at his watch. “Derek is outside, taking care of Gerard’s goons. Can you maintain your composure for about ten more minutes? That’ll give us ample time of dealing with the bodies.” 

“Wha … I thought Derek hated killing?” Stiles finally tore his eyes off Gerard’s fallen body and stared at Peter instead. 

Peter huffed a little but smiled tolerantly. His hand was very warm when he placed it on Stiles’ neck, the thumb rubbing Stiles’ cheek. “He does, but I must admit that he steps up to the plate admirably when he has to.” 

“What do you mean?” Stiles licked his dry lips. He was feeling a little woozy all of a sudden, and his pulse was hammering in his ears. 

“One of them refused to go down quietly,” Peter explained. He went still for a moment, obviously listening to what was going on outside. “Ah. The other submitted without much bloodshed. Good. Now there’s only the one in front of your house left, and Isaac will lure him in easily enough.” 

“Wha … Isaac?” There was a knock on the front door, making Stiles jump. “Jesus!” 

“He did tell you that he was willing to help out,” Peter chided. Taking his hand off Stiles, he stepped around the teen to open the door. 

Isaac went first, the hunter following, a mean twist to his smile and a hand already on the gun at his waist. 

Without warning, Isaac dropped and drove his shoulder into the hunter’s nether region as soon as the door had fallen shut again, leaving the way clear for Peter to take him out like he’d taken out Gerard. That loud, disgusting crack as he snapped the man’s neck wasn’t any more pleasant now than it had been the first time. 

“What the hell!” Stiles cried, scrambling away and nearly falling over Gerard’s corpse. 

Isaac carefully stepped away from where Peter was holding the body up. “Sorry about that.” 

“What’s going on here?” Stiles asked, flailing desperately. “Where did all of this come from? Oh my god, my dad’s gonna kill me!” 

“He won’t,” Peter reassured him yet again. “Because we’ll take the trash out now, stage a traffic accident with the live one as the driver, and clean away any evidence in your house.” 

“I can do that,” Stiles said, almost automatically. “There won’t be much to find anyway, just a bit of hair, maybe. Besides, Argent made sure he was seen, didn’t he? If you make sure that he’s seen leaving again, no one should ask too many uncomfortable questions.” 

“Isaac will stay and give you an alibi,” Peter told them. “You’re just two friends hanging out.” 

Stiles was still unclear about the details, but not long after Peter left with Gerard slung in his arms, holding him up like a doll. How he managed to make it look like the man was actually walking under his own power, Stiles would probably never know. 

He also really didn’t want to. 

Isaac grabbed the other dead hunter, hoisted him upright and handed him over to Derek when he slunk inside from the back. “All taken care of?” 

“Yes. Peter will give the live on the bite before sending them off,” Derek murmured. 

Stiles’ mouth dropped open in shock. “Why would he do that?” 

Something like pity crossed Derek’s face before it settled back to near blankness. “No matter what code a hunter lives by, getting bitten by an alpha is a death sentence. They’re encouraged to end their lives rather than become that which they hate so much.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I’m not feeling sorry for this one. You don’t want to know what he had planned for you, once Gerard was through with his interrogation.” 

Blanching, Stiles turned away. He still felt miserable of two murders happen in his house, but that misery felt a little more removed now. 

He’d be just fine after a good cry and a couple good nights of sleep. 

Derek clasped his shoulder briefly before walking out with the body. 

“It’s freaky,” Isaac said sympathetically. “It’s actually one of the things I have to learn … how to make a body appear to still be alive, I mean. Thankfully Peter and Derek fit right in with their leather clothes. No one will be overly suspicious in this darkness.” 

“Right now all I’m thinking about is _ohmigod_ and _fuck my house is full of evidence_ ,” Stiles blurted out. “Help me get rid of it?” 

“Sure.” 

Isaac accompanied Stiles to the kitchen, got cleaning supplies and the vacuum and together they cleaned the hall in less than fifteen minutes. Once the floor was dry again, they marched over it a couple of times so it wouldn’t appear too clean, waved some dust from the living room in the general direction and called it good. 

“Gerard was seen leaving,” Isaac reminded Stiles. “Even if there are questions, no one will think to suspect that he was killed here.” 

“I feel like I’m gonna barf any minute now,” Stiles said weakly. “I told Peter I’d be okay if Gerard vanished, but now that he is actually gone I feel lousy.” 

“I know.” Isaac steered Stiles up the stairs and into his room. “Let’s lie down. We can talk about it.” 

On the bed, Isaac crawled close to Stiles and spooned him. His arm was a welcome weight across Stiles’ waist. For a while, they were indeed just lying there and breathing through the events that were replaying in their minds over and over again. 

At long last, Stiles whispered, “Peter said he had a plan. I just didn’t expect him to act that fast. Or Gerard, I guess. He must’ve listened in and decided to go for it before Peter could act.” 

“He did, obviously,” Isaac murmured. His nose nuzzled the back of Stiles’ neck. “You heard Derek, he was keen on interrogating you.” 

“Derek could’ve lied,” Stiles argued. “So I’d feel better about it.” 

“Derek might help Peter, but he won’t lie for him. He wouldn’t do that to you.” 

“How do you know?” Stiles asked. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to get the image of Gerard’s head twisting sharply in Peter’s hands out of his mind. 

“Because I heard that hunter taunt Derek with it as they fought,” Isaac said baldly. “He was a sick fuck who deserved to die, and the one who lived wasn't much better. To be honest, he deserves to be bitten before he dies because a monster like him doesn’t deserve any outs.” 

Stiles’ breath caught and he fought against a bout of intense nausea. 

“Are you okay?” Isaac asked worriedly, tightening his embrace a fraction. 

“Yeah, yeah, just a little panicky. Do you really think he’ll just … drive head on into a tree?” Stiles wondered. He closed his eyes and breathed for a moment. “My dad will be so suspicious.” 

“Not for long,” Isaac assured him. “Peter will come clear privately. Your dad already knew that Gerard dead was the one thing that wasn’t negotiable, anyway.” He hesitated. “If you ask me, your dad didn’t seem too conflicted about it after the intel Peter gave him.” 

“It’ll still be hard on him. He swore to uphold the law, and man, my dad is one of the good ones.” Stiles’ blood rushed in his ears as he imagined the crippling disappointment his father would feel. “I don’t feel good being the cause for this mess. He doesn’t deserve this.” 

“But you aren’t the cause,” Isaac said. “That’s what’s important. None of this is your fault. You didn’t _ask_ for Gerard to stalk and threaten you. He did that because he’s a psycho.” 

“My head knows that.” Stiles sighed, wiggling back against his friend. “My stupid squishy emotions will catch up eventually.” 

“Take your time,” Isaac murmured. 

“Hey Isaac.” 

“Mmh?” 

“You seem cool with it, but if you wanna talk, I’ll listen. Okay?” Stiles said quietly. “Just in case it hits you later.” 

“Thanks for the offer,” Isaac replied. “Though I’ll probably draw about it. It works really well for me.” 

Stiles blinked against the wetness in his eyes and grabbed his pillow tightly. “I wish I had something like that.” 

“You’ve got us,” Isaac assured him. “And if that’s not enough, we’ll find something else for you to unload. Promise.” 

They fell silent then, each boy lost in his own thoughts. Stiles’ blurring eyes were on his bracelet. He didn’t know whether he was only imagining the gentle warmth in it, but it was soothing compared to the heated storm howling inside of him. 

_Once was enough_ , Stiles decided, teeth clenching in impotent fury. _No one else will make me feel that shitty ever again_. 

  
  


**End of part 18**


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a little rough so I'll go back and fix wonky bits as I find them. 
> 
> Also, Black Lives Matter and racism sucks.

**Part 19**

  
  


On Sunday, the local news were full of the terrible traffic accident the new school principal and four of his associates had had the night before. According to the anchor woman, the driver had had quite a bit too much to drink, lost consciousness, and steered the car into a copse of trees right outside city limits, causing the vehicle to go up in flames. 

“Miraculously, the driver survived the accident and managed to leave the vehicle before it ignited, and is being treated at the Beacon Hills Memorial for alcohol poisoning and an animal bite that he suffered right after the accident. Police is eager to question him and hopes to fully clear up the many questions this accidents has brought up.” 

Stiles glanced at his father, who was - also miraculously - home for the morning. 

“What?” John asked mildly. 

“No questions for me after getting Peter’s report?” Stiles asked in a small voice. “I know how much this sucks for you … the sheriff’s kid involved in a death, again.” 

His father turned away from the TV and sighed. “Kid, I’m mostly happy that you’re alive and well and that Hale managed to make it look like an accident. I suppose it is unfortunate that the bitten guy survived, though. Derek told me what a little sunshine he is.” 

“Very unfortunate,” Stiles echoed, mind circling around the probable consequences of that. “I’m afraid.” 

“Yes, me too,” John admitted. “I have to leave in a bit and I’d like it if you kept inside today, or at least not went out alone. Can you do that? There’ll be regular patrols, just in case one of them gets ideas. Or you could come with me, spend the day at the station.” 

Stiles shook his head. “I’d rather not, pops. I’ve got my mountain ash and stuff so I’ll probably look into warding our house.” 

“Warding, like, magic?” 

Shrugging, Stiles played with the hem of his shirt. “Yeah, I guess. I mean, I made these bracelets, and our furry friends seem to really feel it. I could try wards.” 

John pondered this for a long moment. “I should be surprised, but I’m not. Not really.” 

“Why?” Stiles sat up and watched his father closely. “Was someone on your side of the family a little weird or something?” 

“Not my side, no.” John paused for a moment, the lines around his mouth deepening for a moment with grief. “Your mother’s. Her grandma had a huge garden full of strange plants in Poland. She was selling medicine to her neighbours for cheap because people couldn’t really afford a doctor then. According to your mom, she was very good at it.” 

“Oh.” Stiles blinked. “Mom was good with plants, too.” 

“And small animals,” his father murmured. He drew a hand over his tired-looking face. “I’ve never put much stock in things like that, but, well ... “ He touched the bracelet around his wrist and his mouth did that terribly sad twisting thing again. “What you did with this feels a little like she did.” 

“God, I’m sorry, dad,” Stiles said, voice a little scratchy. “Do you wanna take it off? I can spell the crap out of all your stuff so you don’t have to wear it.” 

“Son, no.” John shook his head decisively. “No. I want to wear it. It hurts a little, but it also reminds me of the good times with her. It’s alright.” 

There was so much Stiles wanted to say, so much he _needed_ to say about that, but it wasn’t the time, what with his dad halfway out the door and all. 

It never seemed to be the time. 

“I hate to have to leave,” John sighed, almost like reading Stiles’ mind. “Unfortunately the mayor is livid at losing yet another principal so soon, even if he was an evil SOB. He wants me to personally oversee the investigation.” 

“I understand,” Stiles murmured, not trying to hide his disappointment for once. Of course he could go to the station, but his dad would be busy there and not have time anyway, and they both knew it. 

“I’ll be back tonight,” his father promised, softening. “The station knows that I need to be home for you.” 

Stiles scrounged up what courage he possessed and meekly said, “I’m really very sorry that I dragged you into this crazy stuff. I should’ve stayed home that night. Maybe none of this shit would’ve happened to us then.” 

“Maybe not,” John answered. “But Derek and his sister would’ve been back regardless. Peter still would have bitten someone to not go completely insane. The Argents would’ve come back anyway.” He leaned forwards, eyes intent on his son. “All of this still would’ve happened. It’d just have impacted someone else. And for all that I’d be glad not to be caught up in this mess, I’m actually one of the best equipped people in this town to deal with it.” 

“Really?” Stiles could hardly look him in the eye. “It’s so much work, and I know how much you hate having to be morally grey in your job.” 

“The world isn’t black and white,” his father replied firmly. “I didn’t know the supernatural existed, but now that I do, I understand the necessity of compromise.” He quirked a small smile. “You didn’t get the moral ambiguity solely from your mother, you know. We could’ve never been together if that had been the case. As much as I hate having to let things go because they’d never stick in our legal system, I hate it more when innocents get hurt. If there's some sort of police in place and they do a decent job, I'm satisfied.” 

Stiles sniffed a little. “Okay. I’m glad.” 

John opened his arms. “Come here, kiddo. I can’t see you worry like this. I’m sure it’ll be fine, now that Argent is out of the picture.” 

Stiles immediately went into his father’s embrace and held on for dear life. It wasn’t perfect, but it was _something_ , and he was just so relieved that he didn’t have to hide the horrible things happening in his life from him anymore. 

“Can you find out whether there are trauma counsellors who deal with this special brand of crazy?” John asked once Stiles had let go again. “I might need someone to talk to, and I’m pretty sure you and the Hales do, too.” 

“I’ll ask,” Stiles promised. “I sort of already told Derek to go to therapy, so.” 

“You did?” 

Stiles huffed. “The poor guy was abused by that bitch, lost almost his whole family, and then was on the run for six years; of course I did.” 

“Well, good.” John’s faint smile turned a little lopsided as he admitted, “I suppose everyone in the know should go to therapy. This supernatural world seems rather traumatizing.” 

“It’s really unfortunate, because it’s pretty darn cool the rest of the time,” Stiles huffed. 

“You wouldn’t want to join Hale’s pack otherwise, I know,” his father said. He rose from his armchair. “Be careful, okay? I’ll bring back dinner tonight. Salads from Alfredo’s?” 

Surprised, Stiles nodded. “Cesar’s, please.” 

On his way out, the sheriff clasped Stiles’ shoulder and squeezed it. Then he was gone, and Stiles was left with the oppressive silence in their house. 

oOo

Monday was the day of the full moon, which meant that Isaac, who only had one full moon under his belt so far, was forced to sit out their martial arts lesson. His control was surprisingly solid on every other day of the month, but Peter wasn’t taking any chances. 

Stiles didn’t feel like going, and no one would have made him, but it’d have been worse to stay home. To make sure that no one was grabbing him, a deputy was following him out of Beacon Hills and another from Sweetland was escorting him right to the dojo, waving to indicate that he’d be back when Stiles was ready to leave. 

Being out after witnessing two murders was … strange. 

Stiles half expected to be called out on it every moment now, because people were able to see what had happened in his face. 

Nothing happened, of course, although a few of the kids in his class were asking if he was okay, sort of correctly assuming that the loss of his school principal was somehow taking its toll on him. 

“Yeah, I mean, he’s the second one in a month, you know,” Stiles said awkwardly, and that was that. 

Back at home, he dove back into his standard book of spells. Unfortunately it wasn’t very helpful - understandable, if frustrating, since wards weren’t spells - but Stiles was determined to do something to make his home safer. 

Long after dinner, a text from Peter distracted Stiles from an online research binge. 

_How are you doing?_ , Peter asked. _Have you calmed down a little?_

Stiles grimaced. _A little. I’m not feeling great, but my dad isn’t angry, so that’s something. A lot of something, actually. Thanks for asking. How’s Isaac? Full moon affecting him badly?_

_He’s fine, all things considered_ , Peter answered. _Right now he’s running rampant one floor down, and scratching up the walls and pillars. I dumped a hundred different scent samples in there to keep him occupied. He’s fascinated with the green curry._

_Oh my god, really?_ Stiles couldn’t help but grin. _That’s adorable_. 

_You should go to sleep. It’s almost midnight_. 

Stiles huffed, fingers flying over the letters. _Can’t. Need information that’s not in your spell book_. 

_What kind of information?_ , Peter asked. 

_Wards_ , Stiles shot back at once. _The meaner, the better. The internet is a horrible place to find this shit, but I’ve got a feeling I’m getting there_. 

_Not tonight, you’re not. Go to sleep_ , Peter ordered a couple of seconds later. _You need to be rested to stay ahead of The Failure_. 

_Dude, I can’t_ , Stiles replied without even thinking about it. _It’s too important._

_I’m not above sending Derek in_ , Peter countered. 

_You wouldn’t._

Peter’s answer was a selfie of his unimpressed face, one eyebrow raised. In the background, Isaac was literally hanging off an industrial wall, full on wolfed-out. It was kind of hilarious. 

“Fine,” Stiles muttered, annoyed. He snapped a picture of his own grumpy face and sent that in lieu of a text. 

As he was brushing his teeth and washing his face, Stiles felt the fatigue slamming into him, hard. 

“I hate when he’s right,” he huffed at his mirror imagine. “Freaky fucking werewolves.” 

Five minutes later he had face-planted onto his bed and was out like a light. 

oOo

Once again, Isaac was useless the day after the full moon, but so was Scott, which was somehow far funnier than it had any right to be. Stiles prodded Isaac to listen in on Scott’s whispering, but no relevant information was forthcoming. 

At least Erica was her usual bubbly self, letting Isaac have her sugar-free, yet sweet, pudding and telling Stiles the gossip about Gerard Argent’s accident she’d overheard in the girls’ loo. 

“Allison’s super pissed off,” Erica said, mopping up some juices with the last piece of her grilled chicken. “First her sketchy aunt kicks the bucket and now her even more sketchy grandpa.” 

“Why’s she even at school,” Boyd threw in, not looking up from his math textbook. 

Stiles looked over to where Scott was sitting by Allison, his arm around her and his forehead leaning against hers. It’d be heartwarming if it didn’t give him such a bad taste in his mouth. “No idea. Maybe her parents wouldn’t let her.” 

Erica snorted loudly. “If my grandparents suddenly died, nothing would make me go to school if I didn’t want to go.” 

That, and Allison had missed a couple of days after her aunt’s death, Stiles recalled. He didn’t say anything though, instead focusing on the tasteless food in his lunch box and wishing that life weren’t so shitty. 

After school, Isaac invited himself to Stiles’ house and was about to crash on his bed when they both noticed the large box on Stiles’ windowsill. 

“Does it smell like a bomb?” Stiles asked, unwilling to just accept the package when a hunter family had him in their sights. 

“No,” Isaac said succinctly and finally fell onto the bed and promptly began to snore. 

“Great,” Stiles muttered. 

Carefully, he opened the tape with his pen knife and pushed away the flaps. 

Inside the cartons were … shirts. Lots and lots of black, long-sleeved shirts with a round neck. There were two sizes, one for his slim build and one for his father’s more solid frame. 

“Okay,” he muttered dubiously, sniffing on one shirt cautiously. It smelled like new cloth, nothing special, and felt like soft cotton. 

Perplexed, Stiles emptied out the box. At the very bottom he found a folded note and immediately recognized Peter’s distinctive handwriting. 

_Stiles,_

_This is the first delivery of the bulletproof clothing you suggested I acquire for the pack. They’ve been washed and are ready to wear, so please do wear them whenever possible. Care instructions are enclosed. Trousers and undershirts will follow as they’re delivered, but that’ll take a while. Please convince your father to wear the clothes as well. He’s arguably the most exposed of us and I’d hate to lose him after just introducing him to the supernatural._

_-Peter_

Stiles’ mouth dropped open. There hadn’t been any mention of prices in the documentary he’d seen, but it had been clear that this stuff was _expensive_. 

And Peter had dropped five shirts each on Stiles and his dad, just because Stiles had asked for them. How he’d managed to get them, Stiles would probably never know, but damn if he wasn’t grateful. 

“No need to get all teary-eyed,” he scolded himself, rubbing his prickling eyes. To distract himself from the stupid warmth in his chest, he placed his dad’s shirts and the short note on the man’s bed, and then tried on one of his own. 

It fit perfectly, because of course it did. It even made Stiles appear somewhat shapely, accentuating his shoulders and hiding his slouchy middle. Seeing himself out of his layers for a change made Stiles grateful that he was keeping busy and not eating so much garbage food anymore. A plump belly was very hard to hide in this sort of shirt and he was too young to give himself shit like he did his dad. 

Done with the inspection, Stiles shrugged and sat down at his desk, eager to get his homework out of the way so he could continue his online search for legit information on magical wards. 

After nightfall, and long after Isaac had left, Derek appeared at his window, his grumpy face doing complicated things when he saw Stiles in his new shirt. He didn’t say anything though, just placed a tupper box of lasagna on Stiles’ nightstand and took off his boots to make himself comfortable on Stiles’ bed. 

Not so long ago, Stiles would’ve been giddy at having such a handsome guy voluntarily seeking him out. It wasn’t even really sexual, although Derek truly was painfully aesthetically pleasing. No, it had been about recognition by his peers and bragging rights Stiles could exploit, like he’d done with Danny. 

Now, however, he just felt pleased that Derek liked his company enough to spend some time with him, or rather next to him, since Stiles was trawling the net and Derek watching a movie. Knowing what the guy had been through had changed Stiles’ view on him. While still beautiful, Derek was first and foremost someone in need of a break or five, and Stiles felt privileged that he could provide that with his meagre means. 

Derek didn’t ask what Stiles was doing, but he was willing enough to answer Stiles’ questions about the security of his family home during dinner. It surprised Stiles, but maybe he needn’t be after the big reveal about Paige. 

“We had the best security system on the market, of course,” Derek said between bites of lasagna, “but my mom made sure to add to them.” 

“Like what?” Stiles asked. “Empty cans dangling in front of the windows and mousetraps on the floor by the doors?” 

“We definitely didn’t reenact _Home Alone_ ,” Derek retorted flatly, but his lips twitched once. “Too many unruly kids in the house; they’d have gotten caught up in the traps.” His gaze lost some of its alertness. “We were rowdy enough, no need to add to that.” 

“I see.” Stiles couldn’t quite suppress a chuckle at the idea of a Hale kid stepping into a mousetrap in the middle of the night and howling their lungs out. “Oh my god, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh.” 

Derek shrugged. “It’s alright. Every couple of years it’d come up and accidents happened when some kid got too creative.” He exhaled. “It’s good to remember the fun times every now and then.” 

“I hope you know that I mean no disrespect,” Stiles said. “I just … I know. How hard it is.” 

Hazel eyes found Stiles’ and held them. “Yes.” Derek then went back to his food. “Mom had meetings with our emissary, he’d sometimes do magic to aid our pack.” 

“What sort of magic?” Stiles asked, leaning forward a bit. “And what does emissary even mean?” 

Derek shrugged a little. “I don’t really know. Peter was interested in that stuff; I only knew that he was sort of our pediatrician and we all hated going to him because his medicine tasted so nasty.” 

Stiles smirked. “My compassion is severely limited, dude. You haven’t gotten inoculated even once in your life, have you?” 

“You’re an ass. His medicine was disgusting.” 

“Poor Sourwolf. Where do you go now when you’re sick?” Stiles asked, genuinely curious. 

That made Derek pause. “Huh. I guess I’d still have to go to see him.” 

“What, your old emissary is still around?” Stiles nearly knocked over his water glass in his excitement. “Why didn’t you tell me!” 

“I’d only go to him if there wasn’t any other way,” Derek told him, voice tight. “I didn’t really like him when I was a kid, and I attacked him shortly after I came back here. Also, right now Scott is working there and I won't expose myself like that.” 

“Scott … ?” Stiles felt his eyes nearly pop out of his skull. “What! Your emissary is _Doc Deaton_?!” 

“He used to be,” Derek muttered. “Peter didn’t like him much. Said he was too far removed from the pack. Mom disagreed - she didn’t want a magic user too close after one decimated his pack after turning dark.” 

“But-” 

“He’s not willing to help us now, in any case,” Derek interrupted him. “And even if he were, Peter would not allow it. He’s never trusted him and I guess that’s only fair, since Deaton hasn’t been to see him once while he was in the hospital. He could have helped with the healing, at least a little bit, but he didn't.” 

“What. Man, it must’ve sucked rocky balls to be all alone after the fire,” Stiles said. “And to not even have the pack witch visit? That’s harsh.” 

“Deaton’s not a witch,” Derek corrected. “He’s a druid. Don’t ask me what the difference is because I don’t know.” 

“But you know what an emissary is,” Stiles pressed. “What’re they good for?” 

Derek pushed the last bite of his lasagna around the plate. “They’re ambassadors, simply put. They parley with other packs until a proposition is ready to be entertained by the alphas, they help settle disputes, and sometimes they even help in fights.” 

“And they help protect a territory?” Stiles asked. “If Deaton’s got magic, that’s what I’d want him to do if I were the alpha.” 

“I think he tried,” Derek admitted. “I remember runes or some such in several parts of the house, but I couldn’t say what they did.” 

“I’ll ask Peter, then,” Stiles said. “Seeing how Deaton’s apparently not a great choice for a teacher.” 

“Don’t bother trying to ask him for help,” Derek said. “Even if he agreed to teach you, he probably would only frustrate you. When it wasn’t about physical injuries and how to take care of them, he was … vague. Not inclined to explain things clearly.” 

“How do you know?” Stiles asked. 

Derek’s expression hardened. “Laura and I tried to talk to him right after the … the fire. It didn’t go well. Laura nearly took his head off for being unhelpful.” 

Stiles could imagine how very not in the mood for cryptic bullshit two orphans would have been after such a devastating loss. “That’s just not right, man. He should’ve helped you with whatever, it’d have been the decent thing to do.” 

“He couldn’t help us transfer Peter to New York,” Derek murmured. “We wanted to take him, he needed us, but Deaton wouldn’t give a clear answer whether there was a way to help us hide our tracks.” 

“It would’ve been hard for someone in intensive care,” Stiles said, fidgeting. “Just saying.” 

“We knew that, but it was so hard to leave him behind.” Derek swallowed, stopped. “I’d have stayed but Laura made us leave when it became clear that there was no way Deaton would help us.” 

“I … shit. I guess there weren’t any exit strategies in place.” Stiles felt lousy knowing yet another horrifying tidbit of the Hale drama. “Or if there were, people seriously let you down.” 

Derek had nothing to say to that, which was an answer in itself, Stiles decided. 

He dropped the subject so Derek wouldn’t go home more depressed that he had shown up. “Hey, so I thought we could watch the first Harry Potter tonight. I got chocolate covered popcorn, but don’t tell Peter.” 

Seemingly too exhausted to disagree, Derek returned to Stiles’ bed and didn’t even growl half-heartedly at the soft afghan Stiles threw over him in an attempt at comforting him. He just settled in, munched his popcorn, and let Stiles lean against his broad shoulder. 

Comparing to the stress of the last few days, Stiles was completely okay with that.

  
  


**End of chapter 19**


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our guys got problems. Lots of them. ;)

**Chapter 20**

  
  


_We’ve got a problem._

Stiles stared at the message on his burner phone. 

_Which of the many problems do you mean?_ , he typed back after a moment of gathering his wits about him. Peter wasn’t an alarmist, so this stark statement was very worrying. 

_The Argents took the hunter out of the hospital before I could off him_ , Peter sent back. _It was literally the moment I got in unseen by their guards. They took out the deputy on guard and paid off one of the nurses to look the other way. It’s vexing beyond belief_. 

_And dangerous, what the fuck. The Argents have a werewolf now!_

_Don’t I know it. Even worse, that piece of scum will very likely be exposed to The Failure now. One can only imagine what they'll come up with between them._

Stiles couldn’t believe the bad luck they were having. He understood why Peter had staged the death of Gerard and his cronies like an accident, and he also understood especially that it was the best solution to make it look like one of Gerard’s own men was responsible, but there should’ve been a contingency in place for the bitten hunter’s survival, improbable as that had seemed. 

_Too bad that none of the werewolves want to talk about it_ , Stiles thought grumpily. _Yet. I’ll make them tell me eventually_. 

Even then, he couldn’t help but cut Peter some slack. He only had Isaac and, reluctantly, Derek to do all the dirty work, after all, while the hunters seemed to multiply like especially large roaches. 

_What now?_ , Stiles typed, biting on a nail. _We can do the bulletproof shirts and amulets, but that’s probably not enough against two werewolves and a dozen determined hunters. Shit._

_Warn your father._ A long, complicated web link followed, then login data, and finally, _I apologize for the steep learning curve, Stiles. I’ll make it up to you._

It was too late to start a new crawl through the vastness of the internet, but Stiles hammered the link into his browser anyway, eager to find out what Peter had sent him. 

It was a very simple welcome page with just the login field in the middle of a white background. Stiles used the data Peter had given him and held his breath when the page actually opened to him. 

When it was done loading, Stiles couldn’t contain the garbled noise that was rushing from his throat. There, on a calming background of a clearing in deep woods, were magical symbols Stiles recognized from the book of spells Peter had given him. And words. So many beautiful words. 

_OH MY GOD. You have access to the freaking Library of Alexandria!_

Stiles dropped his phone and stared at the monitor. There was a ‘spell of the week’ prominently displayed and even just skimming the words made his peripheral vision warp slightly, he was so excited. 

Taking a deep breath, Stiles dragged his eyes from the fertility gardening spell to the tabs on the left side and nearly vibrated again when he discovered one tab just for ‘warding’. 

_Murderous werewolf hunters notwithstanding, I think I’m a little in love with you right now. Like, I’m no Hermione Granger, but this is overwhelmingly fantastic. Seriously._

_You’re so Hermione Granger, and I know. Don’t engage in the forums and don’t make unnecessary waves in Beacon Hills. The witches running the page don’t normally allow outsiders in without a lengthy vetting process._

_You got it, Alpha-man_ , Stiles typed hurriedly. _I’ll behave and just go find what we need. Let’s hope I’m magic enough to work with it._

_Good luck_ , Peter replied and Stiles dropped the phone back onto his desk to dedicate all of his considerable attention to the topic of warding. 

oOo

_Warding 101_ was resonating so deeply with Stiles that he dreamed wildly about it in the three hours of sleep he managed to catch before he had to get up for school the next day. 

First order of business was putting sharpies into the pockets of his clothes, hiding them in the jeep for easy access, and order white chalk sticks and a metal holder for said chalk sticks as well as colourful chalk markers off of Amazon because that shit was far more practical than a sharpie when it came to quick and dirty jobs that needed to not leave any tracks. 

While he munched on a hastily assembled sandwich, Stiles went through the house and painted runes at the cardinal points of his house, repeating the process on the outside. The deep, billowing colours of his dreams were still floating in front of his mind’s eye, guiding Stiles’ hand and tugging him along until the simple ward scheme was completed. Then, there was some sort of _snap_ behind his breast bone and the violets and blues and golds were vanishing from his sight like the rest of the mist that morning. 

At least that was what it felt and looked like to Stiles’ overtired brain. 

Of course Stiles would’ve liked to repeat that with his jeep, but he was already late and he couldn’t afford to make any watchers suspicious, so he got in and drove off, already developing plans on how to inconspicuously go to Peter’s place and do the same thing there. Plus a fire ward, because he wasn’t leaving anything to chance. 

When Stiles arrived at the school and met up with Isaac, the boy immediately scrunched up his nose and did a critical once-over, taking in the creases in Stiles’ clothes and his rumpled, overgrown buzz cut. “Rough morning?” 

Stiles just nodded, refusing to say anything with Scott somewhere in the vicinity. Together they set off for class, proceeding to blow up their messenger feed with texts throughout the morning. 

Stiles felt a little better reading about Isaac’s worry and annoyance that they hadn’t managed to do a better job. It also turned out that Peter had actually followed the car as it sped off, although he hadn’t been able to keep up, obviously. Adding insult to injury, the accident had been witnessed as it happened, making it impossible for Peter to kill the hunter without also vanishing an innocent family. Thus, to the hospital the hunter went, leading to their current dilemma. 

_Plus, it’s not like any of us was in a position to drive the car into a tree ourselves. Risking a potentially fatal injury would’ve left way too much evidence for the police to find_ , Isaac wrote, following that with a series of moody gifs. _Getting away with (justified) murder is fucking hard work._

_Dude, I know_ , Stiles responded with feeling. _You all did really well, considering how little time Gerard left you for planning. I’m just mad that we can’t seem to catch a break_. 

Thankfully their teachers didn’t much care about unruly students this shortly after midterm finals and, since Stiles and Isaac both were quiet, they just left them be. 

During lunch, Erica honed in on the boys’ bad mood and inquired as to the cause. 

“I just didn’t sleep well,” Stiles said apologetically. “Sorry for being boring, Catwoman.” 

“It’s alright,” she promised. “Everybody’s got bad days. Do you need some comics to cheer up?” 

He smiled at that, touched. “I’ve got a ton to do, unfortunately, but next time for sure. Thanks.” 

“You’re welcome, Batman.” Erica winked. “Man, can you believe that we only have two more months of school left? I’m so looking forward to summer - no more douchebags!” 

“You hope,” Boyd interjected dryly. 

Erica ignored him. “Flying somewhere is out, but you better believe that I plan on spending all of my free time at the lake. I’m a pale bitch, I need lots of time to work on my tan.” 

“We can have picnics,” Stiles agreed, a little more enthusiastic. “But if you’re gonna swim, Boyd and Isaac better come with. I’m not taking any chances with your health and me by my scrawny self might not be enough.” 

Smiling sunnily, Erica answered, “You’ve seen through my sneaky plan.” 

Stiles smiled back, pleased that Erica trusted him and the other two boys so much with herself to let down her guard. Besides, spending time with Isaac or Boyd was hardly a hardship and it was also an excellent opportunity to get closer to the ones Stiles thought would make good additions to Peter’s pack. 

oOo

After school, Isaac accompanied Stiles home. As he got up the few steps to the porch, his eyes suddenly flickered, glowing amber before returning to their original colour. 

“Huh,” Stiles commented. He unlocked the door and let Isaac pass. “Time for some music.” 

In short order, obnoxious polka music was assaulting their ears, and Isaac rounded on Stiles. 

“What was that!” he hissed. “That felt creepy! Like something dragged the wolf up by the scruff of its neck!” 

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said. “I put up a basic ward this morning; I guess it’s good to know that you can feel it. I wasn’t sure after basically not sleeping all night.” 

Isaac relaxed somewhat. “Is that why you smelled like a thunderstorm this morning?” 

“I guess? Anyway, you gotta help me do Peter’s lair, too, I just don’t know how. I’m pretty sure we’re being watched like crazy.” Stiles opened the fridge and got out a large jug of iced tea. “You want some?” 

Drinks in hand, they sat down at the kitchen table to at least pretend they were doing their homework. 

“We’ll ask Peter what he wants to do,” Isaac said, taking a sip from his glass. “It might be better to do without wards as long as the hunters don’t know where he lives.” 

“But it feels icky,” Stiles complained. He scribbled some of the runes he’d used that morning onto his writing pad. “I should help, after everything Peter’s already done for my dad and I.” Meaningfully, he plucked at the sleeve of his black shirt. 

Isaac pursed his lips. “I’d feel better if you could do your mojo remotely, but that’s probably too much to ask of a beginner.” 

“I’m sorry,” Stiles sighed. “At least my house is a little safer now, in case you need to hide out.” 

“You think we’ll be able to get in without you?” 

Stiles shrugged. “I think so. I tried to make it intent-based, like, my friends are welcome or something. Although I have no idea whether that works for Peter and Derek.” 

Isaac sniffed the air deliberately. “Well, Derek’s getting there, going by the strength of his smell in here. I don’t know about Peter. He’s taking care of you and your dad, though, so he’s not an enemy.” 

“Not right now, no,” Stiles allowed. He did feel a bit bad about it, but it just wouldn’t do to forget how dangerous Peter was. “Anyway, I’m a bit stumped about what’s gonna happen next. I mean, are the Argents really gonna keep the turned hunter alive? And if so, what does the dude even think about that? Maybe he’s actually gonna want to bite the dust or something.” 

“Believe me, he doesn’t,” Isaac muttered, brow furrowing. “Peter’s been listening in and it doesn’t look good. The dude is _giddy_ with it, and eager to avenge himself and Gerard.” 

“Fantastic.” Stiles sighed dramatically. “My dad knows, and you can bet that the guy is wanted for drunk driving and speeding, not to mention the involuntary manslaughter you pinned on him. I just … even if the nurse spills the beans, the police won’t be able to find him, will they?” 

“No,” Isaac said. “The Argents apparently have an invisible panic room that doesn’t show up anywhere on the plans. Even if your dad knew where to look, it’d be super suspicious from an outside perspective. Plus, I know intimately how quickly a werewolf can get away, so ...” 

“It’s really, really bad,” Stiles concluded, deflating fully. “Fucking hell.” 

“Even worse, the hunter transformed through the full moon, which gives him almost a whole month to get himself together.” Isaac eyed the sheet of paper Stiles was aimlessly doodling on. “Also, Peter can’t call to him because that’d have the Argents breathing down his neck in a nanosecond.” 

“Right, GPS trackers.” Groaning, Stiles threw down his sharpie and raked both hands over his head. “What a fucked up situation. It boggles the mind.” 

“Derek agreed to keep a look out and off the dude if the chance presents itself,” Isaac went on, “but we all know how unlikely that is. No offence to your good luck charms or anything. It’s just that we’d need like a whole bucketful of luck to pull that off.” 

“I don’t know how to protect my dad.” Stiles’ nervous fingers began folding the page into an approximately crane-like looking paper bird before flicking it over to Isaac. With wide eyes, he stared at the other teen. “The Argents are probably looking to take him out - it’s what I’d do if I wanted to get the cops off my back for a little while.” 

Isaac growled at that and placed a hand on Stiles’ shoulder. “We won’t let them. Your dad is ours now.” 

“I wish we had Boyd and Erica,” Stiles admitted quietly. “Not even als werewolves, although that’d be really good right about now, but just … in the know.” 

“I know. I like them too, and keeping secrets sucks,” Isaac murmured. 

“I hate being a sitting duck,” Stiles pressed on. “I’m not above running.” 

Isaac snorted. “But Peter is. And so’s your dad.” 

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Which is deeply unfortunate, dude. What happened to ‘survive so you can fight another day’?” 

Shrugging, Isaac took up the paper crane and let it rest on his knuckles. His eyes were glowing amber and there were deadly claws were his human nails used to be, but otherwise he seemed calm now. 

After a moment of quiet contemplation, Stiles huffed out a breath. “I guess we’d better get to our homework now if we wanna be done before dinner. You can play Mass Effect if you want.” 

Isaac perked right up at that. He dropped the paper crane next to his math textbook, drank from his iced tea, and for an hour they muttered and whined about the problems like normal teenagers the world over. 

oOo

The rest of the week passed by nerve-wrackingly slowly. Isaac and Stiles skipped their training in Sweetland on Thursday, holing up in Stiles’ room instead to work on their individual projects. While Stiles was binge-reading the warding section of the secret witchcraft page Peter had shown him, Isaac was collating information Peter, Derek, and the sheriff sent him and trying to make sense of it in a manner that was useful to his alpha. 

The monotony was broken occasionally by texts from Erica, who was eager to repeat their outing to the comic book store, or, if that was out, to just hang out, watch Isaac draw, and talk about his story. She had included Boyd in her group texting and the single response from the quiet boy signalled his readiness for the scheme. 

“It’s weird that Boyd’s sort of invested in my drawing,” Isaac said. “You think I can interest him in doing backgrounds and stuff for me? At least sometimes?” 

“If he can draw,” Stiles answered distractedly. He frowned at the rectangle of black origami paper before him and then carefully painted a symbol perpendicular to an already existing one with red acrylic colour. “There, that’s better.” 

“Is it finished?” Isaac asked and abandoned his phone in favour of watching Stiles fold the piece of paper into a rather elaborate looking wolf. “How are you _doing_ that?” 

“Lots of late night fumbling,” Stiles replied, barely hesitating in his folding. He finished with the small wolf head and placed the delicate figure onto Isaac’s open palm. “How does it feel?” 

“Strong,” Isaac admitted. “You’re really getting the hang of this.” 

Stiles grinned. “Yeah?” 

“The origami is pretty cool, but it doesn’t look very sturdy,” Isaac admitted. 

“It’s sturdier than it looks,” Stiles said, already turning back to his desk and picking up his brush and choosing another square of paper - brown this time. “I painted stuff on a rock and it’s much more ... _rigid_ , I guess, because I can’t change its dimensions. I can’t try out where to place the symbols after painting them, I have to already know what I want.” He lifted a shoulder. “I guess that’s not really me at this moment. Plus, I can scrap failed origami far easier than a painted stone.” 

Isaac nodded in understanding. “Maybe you can do wood sometime. You could scrap it by burning or just letting it rot somewhere outside.” 

“Peter already ordered a pyrography set and stuff,” Stiles said. he paused in his painting and sighed. “He’s really going overboard with this magic stuff, don’t you think?” 

“Why? You’re doing magic, aren’t you?” Isaac raised an eyebrow. 

“It’s just small stuff, though,” Stiles countered. “It’s too little to save our bacon. I’m afraid that any moment the universe or whatever decides that this is it. That I won’t be allowed to go further. That I can read about all the cool and useful stuff, but won’t be allowed to do it. Peter would’ve bought all that stuff for nothing then.” 

Alarmed, Isaac put the wolf down and stepped up to Stiles, placing a warm hand onto his neck. “Why would you think that? Is something wrong? Do you have trouble with something?” 

“No, not yet. It’s just …” Stiles abandoned his work and slumped back in his chair. “What if I’m not good enough? The pack is so small, it needs someone who can do all the heavy warding and stuff. I want to do it, but what if that someone isn’t me?” 

Isaac tightened his grip a little. “Then it isn’t you, so what. Peter won’t give up on his Pack Negotiations if that were the case.” 

“Really?” Stiles asked nervously. “I’m not ready for the Bite anytime soon, and what use am I if I’m also bad at magic?” 

“You’re not bad at it,” Isaac said decisively, shaking Stiles a little. “Being untrained is _not_ the same thing as being bad at something.” 

“I … yeah. You’re right.” Stiles rubbed a hand over his mouth. “Shit. Sorry.” 

“You’re worried,” Isaac said, a lot softer now. “I understand that. But don’t let that make you ineffective. That’s the least of the things we need right now.” 

“Fuck, I know,” Stiles groaned. He _hated_ feeling insecure. 

“Peter doesn’t want you for your magic,” Isaac repeated. “He wants you for your smarts. And we’ll need those, so tell your brain to shut up. You can freak out after this situation is over.” 

_Oh, I will_ , Stiles thought with a grimace. _Royally_. 

  
  


**End of chapter 20**


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a little rough around the edges because of the weather (Among my friends and family we say that we 'have weather' when the effing weather is being rough on our constitution, like, right now it's gearing up to a sweltering heat and I feel like a wet towel that someone first killed and then reanimated with a gallon of coffee and half of hell's satanic power. Ain't nobody got time for that, honestly). So please bear with me, as usual I'll probably go back and fix issues as they come to my attention.

**Chapter 21**

  
  


The next week went by quietly. 

Too quietly. 

It went by so quietly that Stiles was worrying himself into a fine state of anxiety that neither Isaac nor Derek could shake during their visits. 

To distract himself from this unpleasant state of being, Stiles perfected his origami folding and dipped his metaphorical toes into pyrography as well. He found it oddly soothing to burn magical symbols into the wooden disks Peter had also ordered for him, and after a couple of evenings he began to notice the difference in the woods he used. 

Oak, for example, was an excellent wood for protection, and once he’d found that one out, Stiles went and burned protective runes into all the doorsteps and window frames of his house until the whole building had a distinctly nordic and _robust_ feeling to it. His father bore it with surprising equanimity and only drew the line when Stiles wanted to also treat his gun belt. 

Then there was apple wood for peace and the divine, ivy wood for protection and success in new endeavors, and beech and birch and holly and even elder wood, which had Stiles crowing in delight. Magical wood properties were amazingly interesting and complex and Stiles could hardly wait to find the time for a more in-depth study. He’d never felt closer to being a student of Hogwarts than in those moments when the small disks of wood vibrated faintly under his hands as the symbols were burned into them. 

But the best part was that on day seven Stiles forgot to anxiously wait for the little _snap_ inside his body when a ward was done. It had happened every time so far, and then, just like that, the _waiting_ transitioned to _certainty_ , and a weight suddenly vanished from his shoulders. 

He was alone, it was very late at night, and the magic was suddenly just there, warming inside of him steadily and then flowing out and into his work in a manner that told him exactly that this talisman would work instead of sort of pulling and finally snapping into existence. 

“Oh,” Stiles said softly, blinking a couple of times. He looked at his hand, hardly daring to believe that something had _changed_. 

_He_ had changed, without any pomp or circumstance, and the occasion was all the more beautiful for it. 

“I guess it’s official now,” Stiles whispered reverently. “I’m really magic! Oh my god!” 

He tried to capture the feeling of _warmth_ and _possibility_ inside of him, to hold it through his breathing and squirmy flailing. If this was true happiness, there had been a distinct lack of it in his life so far! 

oOo

All of the good feelings were gone a day later. Stiles’ dad had said that he’d be home for dinner, but as of now he was an hour late, with no phone call or text explaining his absence. He also wasn’t answering his phone or radio, which was even more worrying. 

Stiles had informed the pack at the half hour mark and Derek had promised to swing by the station and have a look around, but somehow Stiles doubted that his father would be there. 

“Where are you, dad?” he muttered, pacing through the living room and clenching his fingers in the cuffs of his hoodie. “This is not like you … come on, come home. Dinner’s gotten cold already … don’t make me worry about you, _please_.” 

His phone rang and Stiles fumbled to answer it. “Yeah?” 

“Stiles,” Peter said tersely. 

“Peter, ohmigod, have you heard anything? Was my dad in an accident?” Stiles asked frantically. He yanked on his hair and yipped when it hurt. 

Peter was silent for a heavy moment. “No. Nothing at the hospital, nothing at the station. The deputies say he left right on time. There was no traffic, no call out, nothing. He’s simply not answering their calls.” 

All the air left Stiles’ lungs in a rush. “Fuck.” 

“Quite,” Peter agreed dryly. “I don’t want to worry you further, but all of his GPS trackers were found at the edge of the preserve.” 

Stiles had tried to follow those, of course, but they’d stopped working around the thirty minute mark, which was when he’d contacted the pack. 

“You’ll have to prepare for the very probable possibility that your father was taken,” Peter told him. 

“ _Taken_ ,” Stiles repeated, voice rough. He felt faint. 

“Unfortunately. Nothing else makes any sense.” Peter sighed with irritation. “I suppose all we can do right now is wait for their call.” 

“You can’t go and sniff him out?” Stiles asked desperately, gasping when Peter admitted that the scent at the site of the discarded trackers had been burned right away with aerosolized wolfsbane. “We all know that it’ll be a trap. We can’t let him die, Peter. We _can’t_.” 

“I’ll certainly do my best not to let that happen,” Peter replied. “I’m not going to lie, it’s not looking good. But I’ll _try_ , Stiles. I promise you that.” 

“... thank you,” Stiles whispered. His knees went weak and he slumped onto the couch. “And now?” 

“Now you prepare for war,” Peter said, a touch of alpha command in his voice. “Kit yourself out with everything you might need: mountain ash, wolfsbane, knife, talismans, lighter … whatever you feel will help. When the time comes, you’ll be glad to have it with you.” 

“I … yes. Yes, of course. God, I’m sorry. I’m such a mess.” Stiles shuddered as he tried to breathe through the clawing panic in his chest. “Haven’t found a magic spell against that yet.” 

Peter murmured, “There’s nothing to be sorry for, Stiles. Someone kidnapped your only family; it’s absolutely normal. Besides, you’re only seventeen.” 

“But I need to function. I can’t fall apart right now.” Stiles sat up and forced himself to keep up the slow, even breathing. “Tell me what to do. Don’t let me think too much.” 

“I can certainly do that,” Peter agreed. His voice mellowed a little and there definitely was a hint of flirtation as he continued, “In fact, I have a certain fondness for it.” 

“Ew, so not the time, Creeper Wolf,” Stiles complained, but he smiled reluctantly and silently awarded Peter a point for sassiness. 

“We don’t know how long they’ll let us stew,” Peter went on, dropping the lewd act. “It might only be a few hours, it might be a couple of days. I know that rest or sleep are most likely out for you, so you’ll do the next best thing after packing everything you might think will help. You’ll work more magic, and maybe you should try your hand at scrying.” 

“Scrying,” Stiles echoed, feeling too exhausted to be truly incredulous. “What for? My dad’s location?” 

“If you can,” Peter allowed, “but any knowledge the Goddess is willing to impart might be helpful. Trying won’t hurt anything and it’ll give you something to do.” 

“I might be magic, but scrying seems really out there,” Stiles whispered. He closed his eyes for a moment and fought against the hot sting behind his lids. “I’m afraid I’ll push myself into a panic attack if I really think about this.” 

“That could happen,” Peter said quietly. “So no one will make you. It’s just something to think about, Stiles.” 

“Thanks.” Stiles sniffed. “So, waiting, huh?” 

“Yes, but not in vain,” Peter growled. “No matter what, they’ll regret ever having set foot into Beacon Hills.” 

oOo

The call came the next night. A voice Stiles hadn’t heard before greeted him, smug and slimy. 

“Hello Stiles. You don’t know me yet, but that’ll change. My name is Marcus Jacoby, I was one of Gerard Argent’s men. You know, the one that was sent off to kill himself but survived. And what can I say? I’m ready to meet the family now. Especially my new little brothers. So why don’t we meet somewhere … private?” 

Stiles’ very first impulse was to snap back, “Fuck you very much, too, dude,” but he refrained … only just. Instead, he said, “How about no.” 

Peter next to him smirked fleetingly; it was well known how much Stiles hated it when Derek spoke in monotones. 

Jacoby tutted like he was scolding a little child. “You shouldn’t annoy the man who’s holding the future of your patriarch in his claws, little brother.” 

Stiles gritted his teeth at the roughness in Jacoby’s voice. Isaac hadn’t exaggerated when he’d told him that Jacoby and his dead buddy had an unhealthy interest in him. “That’s kind of my default setting.” 

Jacoby purred. “I do enjoy a smart mouth.” 

Peter’s eyes lit up like burning suns and he bared his teeth in a soundless snarl. 

“You know what I want,” Jacoby said then, all humour gone. “The Alpha.” 

“I hear the capital letters, dude,” Stiles hissed. “Why do you want him.” 

“Your mouth isn’t the only smart part of your delectable body, so let’s not play games, kid. I’m sure you can guess. Meet me in the preserve at the coordinates I’ll text you sometime tomorrow. Be prompt and bring the mongrel.” 

Jacoby hung up, leaving Stiles breathless and desolate. There hadn’t even been a chance to demand proof that his father was still alive. 

“My dad might already be gone,” Stiles said dully, shoulders sinking. Peter’s warm hand at the back of his neck was a much needed anchor in the storm of revulsion and fury. 

“That man, Jacoby, won’t be so foolish,” Peter said almost idly. “He knows that he has nothing to lure _me_ with. That’s why he’s luring you. Killing your father would thoroughly ruin his plans so he’ll control himself until he gets what he wants.” 

“It doesn’t automatically follow that he’ll let my dad and I go, though,” Stiles said thickly. He rubbed his eyes furiously. “I hate that guy. And I’m afraid of what he might do … other than killing us.” 

“I’ll kill him very hard before he can lay even a finger on you, sweetheart,” Peter growled, the vibration of his voice causing the little hairs on Stiles’ skin to rise. 

“Promise?” Stiles asked, hating himself a little for needing such a reassurance, but mostly just needing to get that threat _out_ of his life. 

“Yes.” Peter dragged his nose along the curve of Stiles’ neck, blatantly scent marking him. “He won’t do anything tonight, so try to get some rest if you can, even if you don’t feel like it. We all will need you alert tomorrow.” 

“Leave Isaac out of it,” Stiles said. “I mean it, he has no experience at all and I don’t want him to see something so ugly.” 

“He’ll remain in Beacon Hills and observe the remaining Argents,” Peter agreed. He gently turned Stiles around and opened his arms. “C’mere, give us one for the road.” 

“You’re _such_ a creeper,” Stiles complained even as he gratefully stepped into the offered embrace. Peter was warm and sturdy and _there_ , a presence far more overwhelming than even his dad, but he felt safe, too. Stiles felt taken seriously and valued - something he’d sorely missed during the last few months of friendship with Scott. 

He relaxed and let the werewolf hold up his weight for long minutes. Stiles fully expected Peter to become impatient at some point, but he never said a word about Stiles’ clinginess and just waited him out. 

“You’re surprisingly good at the comforting thing,” Stiles said suspiciously when he finally let go of the man. “Practiced much?” 

“As a matter of fact, I was a favourite with the little ones in my former pack,” Peter replied snottily, blue eyes turning red. 

Stiles stilled, inferring immediately that this was a painful bit of information. “Right.” 

“Stay safe, Stiles. Your wards are passable, but I’d prefer if you would line the rooms you absolutely need with mountain ash, just in case.” 

“Thanks to you I’m swimming in the stuff, so no problemo,” Stiles tried to joke, but it fell flat. He looked at his socked feet. “Thanks, Peter.” 

“You’re welcome, Stiles.” 

Peter left then, silent as a ghost, and Stiles went through the boring but necessary process of laying out thin lines of mountain ash all over the house. To make it even harder for possible intruders of the supernatural variety, he did not merely line the rooms but laid out geometric forms as well as fancy serpentine patterns on all the empty floor spaces. 

“Good luck getting through that,” Stiles muttered, surveying his work with dark satisfaction. 

A look at the clock told him that it was past two in the morning by then. All of a sudden, fatigue clawed at him and he barely managed to brush his teeth before falling onto his bed and conking out. 

oOo

Despite still being afraid of provoking a panic attack, Stiles decided to try his hand at scrying after all. The day was creeping by with nothing happening at all, and it was making him crazy. 

Since he didn’t have many utensils normally associated with scrying, Stiles chose a large ceramic bowl, filled it with water, and set it onto his desk. He could’ve chosen a mirror, but balked at the clearness of the reflection. If he were to actually see something bad, he really didn’t want it to be a HD experience! 

Usually the white witches doing this ritual sacrificed something, flowers or cake or whatever else they thought important, but Stiles didn’t feel up to feeding some sort of deity a Reese’s peanut buttercup. 

Instead, he meticulously painted and folded a smoky blue-ish violet square of paper into an exotic bird and carefully set it onto the upturned water glass he’d appropriated as a miniature altar. There was even a small bouquet of dandelions and crocuses which he’d been able to find in his backyard, as well as a lone white candle. 

Stiles lit the candle nervously, fussed once more with the folded origami bird, and then tried to settle himself with a deep breath. 

“Right, so, I’m painfully new at this, but I herewith petition the cardinal powers to come and protect my magical endeavor,” Stiles began. Feeling a little stupid, he closed his eyes and took a fortifying breath. “Earth, guardian of the North, Air, guardian of the East, Fire, guardian of the South, and Water, guardian of the West, I bid you all welcome in my circle.” 

Stiles tried to follow the instructions he’d found online and imagined the elements and their particular properties. For Earth, he imagined the preserve with its rich soil and ancient trees, for East the fresh air that the inhabitants of Beacon Hills were lucky enough to breathe, for South he saw cozy campfires and roaring destruction of the woods, and West soothed the burn with its gentle coolness, only to grow into the impressive, wild dance of ocean waves crashing against the shore. The teeming waters were then gentled by the Earth, and the turn of the circle began anew. 

  
  


Meditating took a while, surprisingly, but Stiles wasn’t unhappy about it. It even felt good to concentrate on something other than his kidnapped dad and the dangers outside of his house. 

Even so, the moment arrived and Stiles felt ready to formulate his question. 

“Will we make it out of the coming confrontation alive?” he asked, throat tight and lips dry. “What can I do to make it so? Please help.” 

He squeezed his eyes shut before opening them and focusing on the still surface of the water in the bowl. 

It was hypnotic, staring at that single point for so long. Stiles could honestly claim to have never managed that particular feat before in his life. It was too bad that it was getting him nowhere. 

Tired and a little frustrated, Stiles blinked his dry eyes. A sickening sense of vertigo gripped him and he flailed his arms for purchase. 

“Shit,” he gasped when the sound of a gunshot cut through the all encompassing blackness. 

As if struck, the blackness suddenly drew in on itself until it was just a small spot at eye-level. Then, that spot spurted an equally black liquid, the faint, agonizing trail soon ripping reality open like a monstrous flash of lightning. When the blindness left Stiles’ eyes, he saw something like a spider’s web before him from close up, just a few single webs in a parallel formation, really. Those webs began to first vibrate and then to sway in gentle curves, like a particularly mellow flag in the wind. 

Stiles gasped and reared back from the bowl of water, in which several small ripples were moving from the middle to the rim. 

“What,” he croaked, “was _that_?” 

**End of part 21**


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have fun. *cackles*

**Chapter 22**

  
  


After that rather unhelpful bit of advice from the Beyond, Stiles was even more nervous. He told Isaac about the vision, but the teen was just as nonplussed as Stiles himself. 

_A gunshot is a gunshot, but as to the other stuff, there’s just nothing to compare it to_ , Isaac texted, his frustration coming across even in written communication. _We don’t have giant spiders in the preserve; I should know because Peter makes me run through the whole damn thing several times a week._

Stiles chewed on his lower lip as he wrote, _There are also no thunderstorms predicted in the foreseeable future. It could happen, but I don’t think that’s what the vision was trying to tell me_. 

_I guess you can be glad to have gotten something, as opposed to just a headache_ , Isaac replied. _Though it’s not easy knowing that someone will probably be getting shot soon. I hope it’s not your dad_. 

_Me too_ , Stiles sent back, another twist of despair making him feel sick to his stomach. _I just wish we could’ve gotten the location beforehand to get my dad back. But maybe that’s asking too much_. 

Isaac sent a gif of a shivering sheep and added, _After wishing for a better life and getting it in the form of werewolves, I’m super careful with wishing for things now. Who knows what we’d get if you somehow actually found out where you dad is being held? That’s not to say I don’t want him back, because I do. Just … you know_. _Cosmic powers and our bad luck do not make a good mix._

_I know,_ Stiles answered, grateful that Isaac understood his disappointment and yet found it in him to see the other side too, because it _was_ a concern. Magic, as far as he’d learned, was all about giving along with the taking. And Stiles simply didn’t have a lot to give right now _. It’s getting late and still nothing. You think that guy will make me tromp through the woods in the middle of the night?_

Just in that moment his regular phone beeped, signalling an incoming text message. Stiles nearly broke something as he scrambled to get to it. 

The text was from Jacoby and merely showed a string of numbers. 

At once, Stiles forwarded the message to the rest of the pack and then typed the numbers into a GPS program to get a visual. It actually wasn’t too far, but impossible to reach by car. He’d have to park his jeep next to the road and hike nearly four miles to reach the clearing Jacoby had marked. It’d be hell with a winter jacket and a backpack loaded to their maximum capacity with a first aid kit, water, several flashlights, and as much magical ammo as would fit around that. Most of it was mountain ash, but there were also a few wooden talismans, a few different strains of powdered wolfsbane, and even some paper cranes Stiles felt might do some good. 

Five minutes later, he started the jeep and set off towards the preserve. No one was following, neither werewolf nor hunter, which seemed more than a little strange. Stiles was also grateful for the small respite, however, and decided not to overthink this small detail to death just yet. 

In the west, the sun was setting in a spectacular display of oranges and pinks high in the sky, only broken up by a few wispy clouds here and there. The evening seemed too beautiful for the horror that was waiting for them in the preserve. 

Peter met him at the side of the road, where a natural shoulder had formed due to illegal parking activities of horny teenagers and people who urgently needed to piss. 

“It’s about four miles from here,” Peter said and pointed into the woods. “Let me carry your backpack, it looks heavy and I need you quick on your feet.” 

“Can’t you carry me, too?” Stiles asked, only joking a little. “There’s so much underbrush and you know my coordination isn’t the best.” 

“It’s only the first mile or so, you can do it.” Peter hefted the backpack as if it weighed nothing. In the mild orange sunlight his red eyes glowed and glittered like precious stones. “You’re loaded for bear; I approve. Let’s go.” 

Stiles fought to keep up with the determined werewolf and did his best to tread carefully. While Peter moved nearly soundlessly, Stiles crashed through the underbrush like a young elephant, all clumsy feet and an inborn inability to avoid clearly visible obstacles. 

Curiously, Peter didn’t scold him for that once, and the reason became clear when they’d reached the three-mile mark. Peter left Stiles side with a head tilt to indicate that Stiles should go on and vanished not a minute later in the forest. 

While nervous before, it was nothing compared to standing alone in the steadily darkening preserve, the ominous sounds of wildlife all around and a beast with claws and fangs at the end of his path. Sweat sprung up between Stiles’ shoulder blades and on his upper lip and his heart doubled its tact. 

“Fuck,” he whispered to himself and forced one heavy foot up and forward. A litany of f-bombs followed as he slowly trudged along. His dad would have his hide if he knew, but if swearing the whole way was the fuel needed to remain moving, Stiles would take it. 

At last, the GPS pinged and let him know that he was close to his intended destination. Through the last few rows of trees Stiles could make out a large campfire. A man was moving along the perimeter of the clearing, never stopping despite surely having heard Stiles’ approach. 

“Hey there, Stiles,” Jacoby called when Stiles finally made it to the edge of the clearing. His grin showed entirely too many teeth and there was a manic gleam in his eyes. Being omega obviously didn’t agree with him. “Do come forward, we have things to do and I’m loathe to waste my time.” 

“Where’s my dad?” Stiles demanded after having swept the clearing with a look and not finding his father. He clenched his fingers into the long sleeves of his jacket. 

“He’s safe elsewhere … for now,” Jacoby smirked. “I had a little help securing him. No need to do everything alone, now is there?” 

“The Argents,” Stiles hissed, stepping back. 

“Oh, no, not the Argents,” Jacoby replied, looking insanely entertained. “They wouldn’t understand my ambition. But I didn’t need them anyway.” 

“Who would be so dumb to help you if it isn’t the Argents?” Stiles asked, glaring at the man. He put his hands into his pockets, inside the plastic pouches of mountain ash, and buried his fingers in the powder. 

“I am,” came the cold answer from the far side of the clearing. 

All the air left Stiles’ lungs in a rush and he felt dizzy. “Scott.” 

The dark haired boy shoved a clearly disoriented sheriff to his knees and scowled at Stiles. “Yes, me. And I’ll thank you for not calling me dumb. Not ever again. I learned from my mistake, you see.” 

“You convinced Scotty to go into the preserve that night, Stiles,” Jacoby crooned. “It’s your fault he was bitten. But we can still repair that mistake.” He strolled over to Scott and put an arm around his shoulders. “I’ll help him kill the alpha and after that …” His smirk widened, “We’ll all go our own way.” 

“Liar,” Stiles said roughly. “Dad, are you alright!” 

John croaked, “Stiles,” only to get backhanded so hard by Jacoby that he slumped down in a dead faint. 

“You asshole,” Stiles seethed. “Scott, how can you let him do that! My dad’s been there for you since kindergarten!” 

“I know.” Not a muscle moved in Scott’s mutinous face. “But this is too important. I can’t let that influence me.” 

“Oh my god, that stuff about regaining your humanity is a damn _myth_!” Stiles shouted. “And you’re as dumb as a fucking _rock_ if you believe this asshole over me! Your friend of more than a decade!” 

“My friend of more than a decade lured me into the woods and got me bitten by a werewolf,” Scott snarled back. “You _owe_ me, Stiles. I told you, but you wouldn’t listen. This? This is your own fault. If you’d helped me sooner, none of this would’ve been necessary.” 

Stiles couldn’t breathe. It was like the boy across from him was a complete stranger. 

“Let’s move this along, Scotty,” Jacoby smirked. “First order of business: lose whatever you have in your pockets, kid. I’m not an idiot and I can smell the mountain ash from here.” 

Stiles didn’t move; he couldn’t. Both Jacoby and Scott were far too close to his unconscious, _hurt_ father. 

“I wouldn’t dawdle, Stiles,” Jacoby called, an edge to his voice. “Empty your pockets.” He pushed Scott a step forward. “Help him, Scotty. We haven’t got all night.” 

“Scott-” Stiles tried again, but the other teen merely glowered at him. 

“Take your hands out of your pockets,” Scott demanded. “Slowly. And then take off your jacket.” 

“What? No!” 

“It’s either that or …” Jacoby showed sharp wolf teeth and kicked Stiles’ father into the ribs with his steel-capped boots. “This. Your choice.” 

Black spots began to dance at the edge of Stiles’ vision and he had to work to get a sufficient amount of oxygen into his lungs. Scott used his burgeoning panic to get around him and yank the jacket off Stiles’ shoulders. 

“You’re always so difficult,” Scott snarled, upending the jacket and watching with glowing amber eyes as the sacks of mountain ash and wolfsbane fell out. He was rebuffed when he tried to touch the loose powder with his foot, but he was able to pick up the still closed bags of ash. “I’m so sick and tired of it.” 

Stiles could only watch numbly as Scott took out a pocket knife, punctured the little baggies and strew their contents around the campfire, literally making a mockery out of the protective properties. 

“I honestly thought that you’d put up more of a fight,” Jacoby said, his terrible, fanged grin still on his face. His eyes glowed a sickly yellow - the mark of a beta rapidly going omega, as Stiles had learned. “Though it’s adorable how much you love your daddy.” He licked his lips. “They do say that love is the only thing that multiplies when shared. I’d make a _good_ daddy, Stiles.” 

Scott’s eyebrows twitched a little and he frowned in confusion. “You didn’t tell me you liked the sheriff like that, Marcus. Maybe you shouldn’t be so rough, then.” 

If he weren’t so panic stricken, Stiles’ would’ve face-palmed at Scott’s naivité. As it was, he had real difficulty not throwing up in his mouth … or wonder where Peter was. 

“Never mind that now, Scotty, we’ve got more important things to do.” Jacoby considered the sheriff for a moment before dismissing him and sauntering over to Stiles and Scott. “Where is the alpha, Stiles?” 

Stiles’ breath hitched. “I don’t know.” 

Promptly, Jacoby’s claws curled around his throat and he growled menacingly. “Try again, little brother.” 

“I don’t know,” Stiles repeated, raising to his tiptoes to avoid getting his jugular pierced. “He left me a mile from here.” 

Scott growled now, as well. “What are you playing at! Are you dumb? Your dad will suffer for it!” 

Behind the two werewolves’ turned backs, Stiles suddenly spied Peter sneaking onto the clearing. He held a bag of mountain ash in his hand and very, very carefully laid a circle around Stiles’ downed father. Once that was accomplished, he put down the backpack and stepped forward, several small twigs crunching under the soles of his shoes. 

“You sent for me?” he asked with a sneer. 

Jacoby let go of Stiles, scratching his neck in the process, and turned around. “You took your sweet time, Alpha.” 

“What can I say? I don’t make it a habit to invest my precious time in failures,” Peter returned. His eyes began to glow bright red and claws appeared on his fingers. “But I’m here now, and fully prepared to correct my mistakes.” 

“Peter,” Stiles murmured, flicking his eyes at Scott for a second. 

“Ah-ah, no talky,” Jacoby crowed. “Scotty Boy, you’ll keep him away from us grown-ups, won’t you? I have plans with you kids later.” 

“Sure,” Scott said, like an idiot. 

Stiles could hardly believe that they’d ever been friends, he was so disappointed and disgusted. 

“You do know that he plans on abusing me?” Stiles hissed, elbowing Scott when the boy tried to pull him a bit away. “Get your dirty paws off me, you fucking traitor!” 

“I’m keeping you safe!” Scott said, having the stones to sound _wounded_. “No one will abuse you, Stiles. Jacoby’s saving your life!” 

“The hell he is.” Stiles smacked Scott’s hand away again, stomach souring at the heated, ugly look Jacoby was throwing over his shoulder. “Don’t fucking touch me!” 

“Fine!” Huffing, Scott put a tiny fraction of space between them. “You’ll feel so bad once you realize that I was right and you were wrong.” 

“Sure, _Scotty Boy_ , and pigs can fly,” Stiles shot back. 

“Your boy has so much fire,” Jacoby called, more for Stiles’ benefit than Peter’s. “Don’t worry about him too much, Alpha, I’ll take good care of him once you’re gone.” 

Peter’s red eyes brightened even further. “I doubt he’ll let you.” 

Jacoby howled with laughter. “Oh, you’re so funny … a pity we haven’t had more time with each other. But you know how it is, there are always things to kill and people to do.” 

And he pulled a gun from underneath his black jacket in one swift movement and fired. 

Peter dove away quickly enough for the first shot to miss. The second hit his torso, where it was - thankfully - blocked by the body armour he was wearing. 

Stiles had never, ever before in his life been so glad to see someone take his advice. The hit obviously still hurt, but it could’ve been far worse. 

“Wolfsbane,” Peter hissed through his fangs. 

“You’re bulletproof,” Jacoby growled back. “Seems like I’ll have to up my game.” 

He shot again, missing far more often than he hit the target, and let out a howl of frustration when it turned out that Peter’s pants were bulletproof as well. 

“He should’ve gotten a gun, too,” Stiles muttered anxiously. 

Then Jacoby’s magazine was empty and Peter literally jumped at the chance and bowled Jacoby over, his claws ripping deep gashes into the hunter’s arms and chest. The TAC vest Jacoby was wearing blocked the worst of the damage, but he was still howling in pain, and Peter was very keen on not letting him get back up again. The empty gun flew into the underbrush, never to be seen again. 

“Shit,” Scott cursed, turning fully from Stiles and tensing. 

“Don’t do it, Scott,” Stiles warned. “If you interfere-” 

“Shut the hell up, Stiles,” Scott snarled, not even sparing Stiles a glance. 

Near the campfire, Peter and Jacoby were rolling around, dealing each other devastating blows. Peter was stronger, but Jacoby was trained in several heavy combat techniques, and he had weapons hidden all over his body. Out of nowhere the man pulled small blades, obviously dipped in wolfsbane if Peter’s enraged roars were any indication, and a few of them unfortunately found their mark before being tossed away. 

It was all far too evenly matched for Stiles’ peace of mind, and to even the odds he decided to try some sort of magical Hail Mary, in case everything went south. It probably wouldn’t go unnoticed but if it worked, Jacoby and Scott wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. 

Shaking with his anxiety and fury, Stiles concentrated fiercely on the spilled mountain ash, willing it to move to the perimeter of the clearing and lock the werewolves in. It felt like dragging cement blocks, but drag the mountain ash he did, and with every inch it got easier. 

“What are you doing?” Scott bellowed when a slithering line of ash nudged his foot on its way to the edge of the clearing. “Stop it!” He whirled around and smacked Stiles right across the face, hitting so hard that Stiles flew back a few feet and landed on his back in the dirt. 

Stiles had no time to viciously hate Scott for this because Jacoby suddenly had a garotte in his hands, which he managed to wind around Peter’s neck with scary efficiency in that one split second of inattention. The wolfsbane on the wire caused black lines to bloom immediately where it cut into the skin. 

Far worse than that was Peter’s wheezing of Stiles’ name, though. He sounded like he would perish on the spot and the thought made everything inside of Stiles shrivel up in horror. 

“No!” he cried hoarsely. 

“Scotty Boy, here’s your chance!” Jacoby hollered, laughing like a hyena and fighting to keep his grip on Peter. “Come quick, this bronco is eager to throw me off!” 

Without hesitation, Scott shifted into his beta form and ran, taking the last of Stiles’ belief in his teenage innocence with him. 

“No,” Stiles repeated desperately. He grabbed a handful of dirt, hoping beyond hope that there was at least a little mountain ash mixed in, and threw it at Scott with the single-minded wish to _stop_ him. 

A dark mist enveloped Scott mid-lope and for a horrifying second it looked like the boy was splitting in two halves. 

He _was_ splitting in two halves! 

Stiles’ mouth dropped open in shock as the solid half of Scott went on, howling like he was being killed from the inside out, only to stumble and crumple down like an invalid. The misty half, on the other hand, suddenly lit up like a cosmic nebula, formed into a majestic wolf, and hovered there for another moment before coming straight at Stiles. 

“Wha-” he cried, weakly raising his arms to protect himself from the attack. 

Not heeding his pathetic gesture, a rush of intense warmth enveloped Stiles and something sandpaper-y yet soft wound all around him, slithering over his skin as if searching for something. It was over in seconds, the warmth and crawly feeling centering on Stiles’ back and then cooling rapidly, leaving the teen completely bewildered and disoriented. 

“My word, I’ve never seen anything like it,” Jacoby purred, obviously and disturbingly aroused. “Looks like Scotty is out of commission … oh well, more fun for me!” 

Jacoby took one hand off the tightly wound garotte, found a small gun behind the breastplate of his TAC vest, shoved it under Peter’s black shirt, and fired. 

Peter roared, jerking at the impact, and managed to claw so strongly at Jacoby’s arm holding the garotte that blood was splattering everywhere and nearly all of the muscle tore. 

Stiles felt the gunshot wound like his own, pure terror washing through him. 

“No, no, no,” he begged, getting to his knees and crawling forward. “Peter!” 

Whooping victoriously, Jacoby dropped the garotte and stepped back, cockily holding the gun to the back of a panting Peter’s head. “Say goodbye to your alpha … and then say hello to your new alpha, Stiles.” 

  
  


**End of chapter 22**


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry not sorry :p

**Chapter 23**

  
  


“The hell he will,” an unexpected voice snarled, and then a sickening slicing sound followed, chased by Jacoby’s scream. 

The hunter involuntarily went down and around to deal with the new threat - which was Stiles’ dad, holy shit the man was a ninja with a hunting knife! - only to be tackled by Peter. Even though it wasn’t needed, Stiles also tried to send as much mountain ash around the guy as possible. 

Face first in the dirt, Jacoby’s angry howl of pain turned into hysterical laughter. “You think you’ve won!” His yellow eyes flickered at the pressure of Peter’s claws on his backbone right below his skull. “Tell you what, you _didn’t_!” 

“The gun!” Stiles shouted, but it was too late for his father to snatch it out of the hunter’s pressed down hand. Jacoby spitefully emptied the magazine of his Colt Defender, all seven remaining bullets, into the underbrush. “Shit!” 

“No wolfsbane ash for our dear alpha,” Jacoby yowled, still laughing like a loon. “See you on the other side!” 

Peter immediately broke Jacoby’s neck and then ripped his head clean off, roaring like the furies had taken over his body and were about to unleash their temper on the world. 

“Fuck,” Stiles groaned wetly. He ineffectually rubbed over his wet lashes and fought to get up, his throbbing face be damned. “Dad, there’s a ton of stuff in my backpack. I’ve got some more wolfsbane in there.” 

“I should kill you, McCall,” Peter growled, turning on Scott, who was just rousing from his faint. “You stupid, unloyal _failure_ of a human being.” 

“Yeah, no, that’s no longer necessary, I think,” Stiles rasped. He passed Scott, ignoring his former friend’s weakly outstretched hand, and caught Peter around the middle. “You don’t look so good. Shit. The wolfsbane, dad! And a lighter!” 

His father, although he didn’t look so hot himself, quickly located the backpack without argument and went through it, lifting up sealed bags of stuff as he found them. 

Stiles directed Peter over to the campfire, away from the gruesome, bloodsoaked body. For not being an overly large guy, Peter certainly was heavy. “Wow, dude, your muscles have muscles … we’ll set you to rights.” 

The sheriff helped Stiles lower Peter to the ground. “He really doesn’t look good.” 

“Too many different strains … of wolfsbane,” Peter ground out, his face sweaty and pale. The black lines on his neck weren’t going anywhere, and his many shallow wounds weren’t healing. To further compound the fact that he was seriously unwell, his red eyes were dulling and brightening with each laboured breath he took. 

“We can negate at least a few,” Stiles insisted stubbornly. He grabbed the tablespoon and lighter his father held out and watched as the sheriff tipped a bit wolfsbane from the first bag on the spoon. “We won’t let you die.” 

He burned the wolfsbane to ash and pressed it into the gunshot wound. Peter snarled and nearly bucked Stiles’ father off. 

“It won’t help,” Scott called, coughing a little. 

“What do you know,” Stiles growled, already burning the next strain of wolfsbane. 

Scott managed to get to his feet. “I feel weird.” 

“I apparently separated you from your wolf spirit,” Stiles snapped without looking at the other teen. “You’re welcome. Now stay back and leave us alone.” 

“No, let him talk,” the sheriff said. “Scott, what do you mean, it won’t help?” 

Scott slowly made his way over to the campfire. He was shivering. “Marcus had a weapon oil that smelled like wolfsbane. He said it had thirty or so different strains in it. Impossible to counteract.” He sat down, three or four yards between himself and the others. “I’m not sorry that Peter will die. He ruined my life.” 

“I told you,” Peter said roughly. He curled his clawed hand around Stiles’ upper arm and spat out a glob of black goo. “Too late for me.” His red-eyed gaze settled on Scott. “But I could take The Failure … with me. You deserve … better.” 

Scott scoffed. “You won’t kill anyone ever again.” 

“Scott!” Stiles’ father snapped. “Stop that. You did enough damage these last few weeks, don’t think I don’t know about that! We’ll have a very long talk, you and I, once we’re out of here.” 

Under Stiles’ hands, the temperature of Peter’s skin suddenly increased, almost burning through the fabric of his jacket and shirt, and the black lines all over him spread further. “Shit, he’s declining fast, dad! He needs help! There’s water in my backpack, give me a bottle.” 

The sheriff got out two bottles and handed one over, opening the other and chugging it down thirstily. 

“Can I have some, too?” Scott asked. 

Stiles ignored him and fed Peter some water, grateful that it seemed to stay down for the moment. “I’ll call Derek and Isaac. They need to know what’s happening.” 

“Yes, pack,” Peter said hoarsely. His eyes burned hot again and he roared. His claws would’ve sliced Stiles’ arm open if he hadn’t worn the protective shirt. “Sorry … you hurt?” 

“No, I’m fine. Even if I weren’t, it wouldn’t be your fault.” Feeling sick with worry, Stiles threw his father his phone. “Please call Derek, he needs to get here ASAP.” 

“On it.” John unlocked the phone and made the call, stating very succinctly what had happened before asking him to meet them at the coordinates Jacoby had given them and then ending the call. “He’ll be here soon, but he said he’ll leave Isaac at home because hunters are heavily patrolling the city right now and he doesn’t want to risk him.” 

“Good call.” Stiles ran a trembling hand over Peter’s tense shoulder. He still couldn’t believe that the man was _actually_ fatally poisoned. It was too horrible to even contemplate what his death would mean, both personally as well as for the two werewolves depending on him. 

“Leave me here,” Peter panted. “No need to … subject yourself to this. Derek … will make it … quick. He’ll … take care of … Isaac.” 

“Derek would be a shit alpha,” Stiles told him peevishly, biting his lip to keep his eyes from watering when Peter chuckled weakly. “I’m not letting you kick the bucket here. It’s Jacoby’s grave, not yours. You hear me?” 

Peter laughed wetly, more of that black goo spilling over his lips. “I don’t mind.” 

“Well, I do.” Stiles forced some more water into Peter’s mouth and then stuffed the bottle back into the backpack. “Even if we can’t do much for you, we can at least leave that bastard behind. Derek will find us, no matter where we go.” 

“Stiles …” The sheriff rubbed his tired, grey face. “Do you think that’s wise? At least here your magic ash is all over the place.” 

“You can’t take him away from here,” Scott interjected, quietly gleeful. “There’s not just wolfsbane in the oil. Jacoby said there’s mushrooms mixed in, and some sort of frog poison.” 

“Hallucinogens,” Stiles’ father said grimly. “That’s not good.” 

“Not good,” Peter echoed tightly and then his fangs dropped without warning and he _roared_. Suddenly his glowing eyes roved around, chasing things only he could see. “Leave. Now!” 

“You’re not crazy enough yet!” Stiles shouted. Frantically he grabbed the backpack and zipped open the many small compartments. The pyrography talismans were where he’d put them, and he crowed in grim satisfaction. “Hold this, Alpha.” He slapped the talisman into Peter’s hand and forced the clawed fingers closed around them. 

Peter howled and sparks of golden light danced over his arm. 

Encouraged, Stiles put more of them in Peter’s pockets and even his boots as long as he was keeping still enough for that, and then forced a couple of them on his father and, grudgingly, even on Scott. 

Next came the few origami animals he’d packed. There were a few cranes, another wolf, and even a bat, done while watching Batman with Isaac. Bats symbolized health and longevity in the Chinese culture, he remembered, and since they literally had nothing to lose, Stiles put that one over the bullet hole in Peter’s chest. 

“Loosing … my grip,” Peter groaned, sweat pouring down his face. He had dark circles under his glowing eyes and the black lines from the garotte cut around his throat were creeping upwards on his cheeks now. 

“Let’s go,” Stiles ordered. “Pops, you take him. I’ll stay behind and kill the fire. Don’t let Scott come too close, or he’ll kill Peter.” 

“I won’t,” Scott replied and shrugged at the angry looks he received. “I don’t need to, do I? I can help with the fire.” 

“You can fuck off,” Stiles hissed. “In case you didn’t notice, we’re _over_. It’s so over for me that I won’t ever acknowledge you again.” He helped his father throw Peter’s arm over his shoulder. “Be careful, and if he seizes, holler. Derek is probably already inside the preserve.” 

The sheriff nodded, heaving Peter up and tugging him along. “Don’t take too long. He weighs a ton, Jesus. Scott, take the backpack and come along. Stiles doesn’t want you there, and I don’t blame him.” 

Stiles immediately went to throw dirt into the fire. It helped that the earth was moist from last night’s rain, but it still took too long without a shovel. At least Scott was gone, and Jacoby’s body wasn’t saying anything, thank fuck. 

“You really brought that shite upon yourself,” Stiles told the dead hunter when the sudden, stifling silence became too much. “No idea how we’re gonna handle this clusterfuck, but you’ll not be consulted, dude.” 

Ten minutes later, the flames were stifled and only some rising mist spoke of the previous heat. Stiles tried to dust off his dirt-caked hands but gave up when not even a small wash out of his dad’s nearly empty water bottle made any difference. Peter was far more important anyway. 

oOo

Derek had reached them only minutes into their slow trek through the preserve, promptly relieving the sheriff of his burden and dragging Peter far more quickly towards the road than the humand would've had any chance to accomplish. 

For a long while, they walked in silence. No one but Scott wanted to talk, everyone listening intently to the wet heave of Peter’s breathing instead. 

“Leave me ... here,” Peter growled after yet another hallucination, eyes rolling and claws trying to maul Derek through his body armour shirt. “Nephew … don’t wanna hurt you … more.” 

“Shut up, Uncle Peter,” Derek murmured. “Any idea where you want him, Stiles?” 

“I don’t know, maybe his apartment?” Stiles asked, wringing his hands. “It’d be comfortable, at least and he'd have Isaac there … if we can make it there.” 

“Not … Beacon Hills,” Peter groaned. “Want … nature. Want the … moon.” 

“Right,” Stiles said, nearly faltering. “Does he have a favourite place?” 

“Yes, actually.” Derek’s hand around Peter’s wrist clenched a little. “It’s the gazebo on the rise. Before the … before, he liked to have breakfast there and work on cases before going into the office.” 

“Not sure he’ll make it until sunrise, but we can definitely get him there,” Stiles’ dad said decisively and slapped Scott against the back of his head when the boy snorted quietly. “Or rather, you’ll make it there. I’ll take this one home.” 

Stiles nearly cried with relief when the road came into view through the trees and underbrush. “Civilization!” 

“Take my car, sir,” Derek said. “It only sits two anyway.” 

They made it to the parking shoulder where Derek had squish-parked the Camaro right behind the jeep and shoved Peter onto the bed of the truck. Quickly, Derek handed over the keys to his car, already turning to jump next to Peter, when the sheriff handed him a substantial key ring in return. 

“Those are the city’s general keys,” Stiles’ father explained. “You’ll need them when you get to the entrance of the park. Vehicles normally aren’t allowed but the path to the rise is very long and I don’t think you'll want to drag him all the way up there.” 

“Thanks, dad,” Stiles whispered and hugged his father tightly. “For everything. You’re the best.” 

John kissed Stiles’ head and returned the embrace just as tightly. “Just doing my part, kid. Now go, I need some quiet time to come up with a halfway believable story about that body in the preserve. Jesus.” 

“I’ll help,” Stiles promised. “As soon as … as … you know.” He broke off and cursed his stinging eyes and fair skin that was certainly showing his distress in all its splotchy glory. 

“It’s okay,” his father murmured, cupping the back of Stiles' head and bussing another kiss to his son’s forehead. “Take all the time you need … all of you. Love you, kid. I’m so sorry the night had to end like this.” 

Stiles burrowed deeper into his dad’s chest. “I hate him. Scott. He did this, he …” 

“I know, kiddo, I know.” The sheriff sighed deeply. “Melissa will flip when I tell her.” 

“When, not if?” Stiles asked, rubbing at his eyes and stiffening his spine. 

“When,” John assured him. “She deserves to know what her kid has been up to these last few months, and that he went very, very wrong somewhere. It’ll break her heart.” 

“I hope she grounds Scott until he’s _forty_ ,” Stiles muttered angrily. “You won’t make me hang out with him, will you?” 

“Of course not. Now go, time’s running and Hale’s really looking bad.” After a last pat to the shoulder, the sheriff pushed Stiles away and got into the Camaro, where Scott had sulkily buckled himself in already. 

  
  


“Stiles,” Derek called quietly after the Camaro had driven off. “Come on.” 

After one last wipe over his wet lashes, Stiles got into the jeep, manoeuvering them around and back into the direction of Beacon Hills. Halfway there, he’d be able to take the bypass and go directly to Beacon Hills’ largest and best kept park. 

“You alright back there?” he asked after he’d gone over a pothole. 

In the mirror he could see Derek purse his mouth and give a nod, which could only mean, “No, but go on anyway.” 

So Stiles drove along the lonely road, with only the dim light of the lanterns easing the way. It was barely ten and he already felt so _tired_. 

Stiles’ eyes were drooping a little, only to snap open again when a reflective triangle warned of an obstacle on the road. Another reflective triangle guided him carefully around a slight bend and then a maintenance vehicle of the town’s electricity provider came into view. Despite the late hour, a fully kitted out man was hitched high to the pole, observing damage done to the cables caused by a fallen tree branch. 

Suddenly Stiles’ thoughts violently flashed back to the vision he’d received. There’d been a huge bolt of lightning; what if that had meant something to do with electricity instead of an actual thunderstorm? Because while there were clouds in the sky now, there was no hint of rain, never mind a storm. 

As he drove past the maintenance truck, a shower of sparks rained all over the worker and his loud curses could be heard clearly. 

Stiles wondered whether he should stop and offer assistance, but other than the curses the man seemed to have everything under control. Only the pole he was hitched to was jerking a little, making the attached cables sway slightly. 

Like the spider web lines Stiles had seen in the vision. 

“That can’t be a coincidence,” he muttered, feeling a vicious hope claw at his insides. He pressed down on the accelerator and shouted, “Change of plans!” 

“Stiles!” Derek yelled. “Where are we going?” 

Feverishly, Stiles tried to put the clues together. He didn’t think that the side of the road was right, not with the cables gently swaying ahead for at least a mile. No way was that a coincidence after the worker’s slight _nudge_! 

“No idea!” he called over his shoulder. “But I’ll figure it out!” 

Derek protested, because of course he did, but Stiles felt so certain that he needed to follow those cables that he simply went even faster and tried not to doubt himself. If there was a chance of turning this horrid night around, he needed to grasp it and make the best of it. 

oOo

“The transformer station? Are you serious?” Derek asked, strong eyebrows drawn together in a furious scowl. “What the hell, Stiles?” 

“Don’t ask me, I just know we’ve got to be here …” Stiles fumbled with his dad’s key ring, feverishly searching for the key to the gate. It was so secure that not even Derek would be able to clear it without doing himself harm, and that didn’t even take Peter in his nearly-dead and therefore useless state into account. 

“Tha’s not the gazebo,” Peter slurred. His claws were permanently out and his wolfed out face was completely lined with black, but for the moment he seemed to be clear. “Stiles?” 

“Wait just a moment, dude … aha!” Stiles rammed the key into the lock and swung the gate open. “In there, quickly! I’ll lock back up.” 

Derek obeyed, although he looked pissed. “There’s nothing here!”

Stiles jogged along, his legs and lungs smarting insistently now after their speedy eight mile trek through the woods. “Dude, I _know_! But it feels …” 

They reached the fenced in transformers, the night dark and foreboding around them. There was a slight hum in the air. 

Peter convulsed and howled again just as an electrical discharge lit up one of the relays, high above their heads. Sweat was pouring down his face and neck, and this time he didn’t relax afterwards. 

This time, the hallucinogenic poison robbed him of his sense entirely, and he attacked the arm that was holding him with vicious single-mindedness. 

“Derek!” Stiles cried. 

“The talismans aren’t holding him any longer,” Derek gasped, trying to hold off his uncle from getting loose and after Stiles. It was nearly impossible because Peter tore at him with claws and fangs and the desperation of the truly insane. “They're burned out! Do you have mountain ash? Enough for a circle?” 

“No, I … fuck, Scott took the backpack with him …” Frantically, Stiles went into the pockets of his jacket, but other than a few small pinches of mountain ash, nothing was in there. “Hold on, I’ll try anyway!” 

Hastily, Stiles grabbed the ash, threw it in the air, and begged it to form a circle around Peter so he wouldn’t succeed in mauling Derek. 

Thankfully, the small cloud of ash did his bidding, and Stiles shouted for Derek to get away before the circle closed. 

“It’s not strong and probably won’t hold him forever,” Stiles said, pacing along with Peter, who was howling in pain and pounding against the invisible barrier. His eerie red eyes were following Stiles’ every move. “We gotta do something. No way did whatever or whoever lead me here just for him to go crazy like this!” 

“This was your idea,” Derek growled. “I would’ve taken him to the gazebo and … and finished it.” 

Before them, Peter lost his footing and cried out. Black liquid was gushing from his mouth and eyes and ears and he began to claw at his own chest. 

“No!” Stiles cried. In reaction to his distress, the mountain ash circle warped until it formed a human outline - a grotesque black crime scene body edging, as if Peter were already dead. It stopped Peter from harming himself further, but he was still spitting and convulsing and howling for relief. “No, no, _no_!” 

“Stiles, maybe we should-” 

But Stiles wasn’t listening. He kneeled down by Peter’s head, hand carefully touching his straining neck. The sweat on the hot skin was gross, but the touch seemed to get through the delirious werewolf, at least a little. “I’m here, Peter.” 

Peter snapped at him, eyes rolling wildly. 

“None of that,” Stiles choked out, gripping his neck tighter. “Look, I thought there was something there … I’m sorry that it isn’t as beautiful as the park. But you’re not alone. Derek’s here,” he waved the other man over to Peter’s other side and put his hand along Peter’s head, “and we’ll stay.” 

Derek looked unbearably hurt now, naked desperation on his face. 

“I think I even brought your first kid,” Stiles continued, and yes, the mountain ash on his back suddenly became alive again and trailed over his arm and right onto his fingers. “I guess he knew what’s coming since he didn’t vanish into the ether or wherever your wolfy sparks go when you die. You wanna say goodbye?” 

The mountain ash crawled from Stiles’ fingers onto Peter’s skin, first licking at it like a little puppy tongue and then, all of a sudden, rushing straight into Peter’s mouth and nose, a golden line of light following along. 

Peter promptly choked and began to fight the invasion, while Derek scrambled back in horror. His shouted demands for an explanation went unheard because Stiles was rooted in place and unable to do anything but stare at the poor suffocating, and at the same time violently ill, guy before him. 

The light was wandering aggressively under Peter’s skin and shining out from the black lines the wolfsbane had caused, making it seem like Peter was a broken vase that someone had repaired with gold. Even close to death, he looked quite beautiful, Stiles thought. 

And then, not very long after, more sweat and black goo came out of Peter’s pores, dulling the pretty light to a barely there shimmer. The thrashing and hoarse howling intensified briefly before it all but stopped. 

“What’s going on now?” Derek asked in a broken voice, clawed hands hovering over Peter’s twitching shoulder. He made a wounded sound when Stiles broke the mountain ash line and latched onto his uncle like a lost little child. 

“I think Scott’s wolf spark is trying to … help?” Stiles whispered. “I mean, it sort of looks like it’s killing him, but it doesn’t _feel_ like it.” 

“Whatever it’s trying to do, it’s too late,” Derek said roughly. “Peter’s too weak … there’s just no way ...” 

Peter’s pulse got very slow then, his red eyes losing their glow and his face turning back to human. He exhaled deeply, like he were relieved. For a second it looked like he would say something, but then he just … stilled. 

  
  


**End of chapter 23**


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I'm overwhelmed by all of your comments. You really made the last few days very enjoyable with your outrage, haha. In fact, I apologize for giving you two cliffhangers in a row. It wasn't my intention to be so mean, both scenes were simply at the end of my usual chapter length. It worked out just fine, obviously, but it wasn't planned or anything. 
> 
> Anyway, after so many intense highs there has to come some falling action, and I expect to finish this story soon. :) 
> 
> Have fun and stay safe!

**Chapter 24**

  
  


Stiles flushed all over and a fury overcame him like he’d never felt before. 

“Oh, no, you don’t!” he screamed. He balled his hands to fists and hammered down on Peter’s chest. “I swear, if you leave this body, wolf, I’ll harvest you and insert you into _Scott_ as punishment!” 

Derek on Peter’s other side sobbed a little. His eyes were still an electric blue, which was the only thing that was keeping Stiles sane at the moment. 

He pounded Peter’s chest again. 

“Fuck, it’s like I can’t even get through,” he panted. “You try, Sourwolf!” 

“He’s dead, that won’t do anything …” 

“Then what the fuck does?” Stiles demanded. “He’s still here! You know he is! _Think!_ ” 

Derek licked his lips. “We need to jumpstart his innate magic ... we won’t be able to do that with physical force.” 

“Magic?” 

“You are magic, Stiles,” Derek said quietly. 

“Not magic enough, or these would’ve done something already,” Stiles snarled, looking at his hands as if they’d betrayed him. “What else?” 

When Derek didn’t have an answer - and Stiles couldn’t really blame him for that, the guy was hung up on his dead-but-not-wolfless-yet uncle lying before him, after all - Stiles took a moment to breathe away the stress. 

The annoying humming of the transformer station almost literally bored into his mind and suddenly he felt like the most stupid dunce in the world. 

“Electricity!” he shouted, scrambling up. “We need one of those transformer cables!” 

“It’s not magic,” Derek growled back, but he got to his feet as well. 

“Close enough, or do you have a better idea?” Stiles demanded. “Get me. A cable! _Now_!” 

With that order ringing in his ears and the sheriff’s keys hitting him in the chest, Derek turned on his heel and opened the gate. He gingerly climbed the construction, used his jacket to marginally insulate his hands, and then tore at the closest cable. 

Even from the ground, Stiles could see how much this strained even Derek’s impressive physical abilities. It wasn’t just the process of trying to tear the cable loose, he also had to take care not to hit himself with an electrical discharge strong enough to drop a blue whale. 

It seemed to take forever, but Derek managed. With impatient hand waves, he urged Stiles to drag Peter inside the fenced off area because the cable definitely wasn’t long enough to drag it to where Peter was lying. It barely even reached the ground. 

“We’ve got nothing left to lose,” Stiles said when Derek hesitated. He gritted his teeth as he kept Peter’s limp body from sliding off the huge circuit breaker box that was conveniently close to where they needed it. “Do it.” 

“Together,” Derek replied, slanting a quick look at Stiles. “You brought us here. It might need your magic to work.” 

“Yeah, okay.” 

Stiles grasped Derek’s hands, taking his other one away from Peter, and together they pulled the cable towards Peter’s side. 

“That’ll hurt like a bitch,” Stiles murmured, earning himself a shove with Derek’s shoulder, and then they touched the sparking cable to Peter’s skin. 

oOo

Stiles had expected something dramatic; at the very least he had expected Peter’s flesh to burn and smell disgustingly like sizzling steak or something. 

Reality was so much worse. 

So. Much. 

The power surge not only blasted Peter off the breaker box, it also blasted Stiles and Derek clean off their feet and slammed them into the closest transformer tower. It was pure dumb luck that they didn’t get hit by the wildly whipping cable as well. 

Derek thankfully broke Stiles’ fall, for the most part at least, although the sickening crunch Stiles could hear before briefly blacking out clearly spoke of at least one broken bone. 

“Shit,” he slurred. “That was _intense_.” 

Derek groaned. “Your rescue missions _suck_.” He grabbed his left shoulder and rotated it, provoking another sickening crunching sound. 

Stiles shook his head to clear away the black and white dots dancing in front of his eyes. “Peter … where …” 

He looked around and gasped when he saw Peter lying like a badly singed broken doll on the ground. Half of his torso was visible where they had struck him with the world’s meanest cattle prod, the skin burned and blackened underneath the ruined clothes. 

And dear god, the smell! Now that Stiles was getting his bearings, the smell of burnt flesh invaded his nose and mouth and soul. If that was how his family smelled as they burned to death, Stiles had all the compassion in the world and then some for Peter’s murder rampage. 

“Is he breathing?” Derek asked tightly. He was white as a sheet, eyes glowing brightly. 

“I … no.” Stiles collapsed next to the werewolf. “Fuck.” He reached out and touched Peter’s clammy face. “You think hitting him is gonna help now?” 

“Try,” Derek snapped. 

So Stiles tried. He pounded on Peter’s chest and, when that didn’t bring any results, he reminded himself that he had done a first aid course every year since getting his driver’s licence and could do fucking mouth to mouth in his sleep. After everything they’d already done, this really was nothing. Hastily he used his shirt sleeve to wipe Peter’s lips clean and then checked whether something was obstructing his airways. Tilting the man’s head back a little and pinching his nose came almost as second nature. 

From the sidelines, Derek was watching like a mournful hawk, wide-eyed and silent. 

No pressure then. Stiles wiped his sweaty hands on his jeans and tried to psyche himself with a couple of deep breaths. 

“Stiles,” Derek implored, sounding wrecked. 

“Yeah, sorry dude,” Stiles said before taking in a deep gulp of air and setting his lips onto Peter’s. 

It was so gross to smell the black goo’s rotten stench, but Stiles persisted. Carefully, he blew air into Peter’s lungs twice, watching as Peter’s chest rose a little and fell again. 

“Again,” Derek instructed quietly, and Stiles obeyed. 

In between breaths, he did the tried and true method of pumping Peter’s ribcage to the rhythm of _Staying Alive_. 

“Come on,” he begged. “You’re still in there, alpha wolf! Make him breathe again!” Stiles bent down to deliver another couple of breaths. In his mind, it seemed so stupid that the mountain ash was still inside of Peter but not doing anything. “Fucking hell, what good is magic if it can’t do this? Fucking _kickstart_ his innards if you have to!” Frustrated, he slammed his hands onto Peter’s chest. 

Peter’s sallow skin lit up from the inside, the light stronger along the dark grey wolfsbane lines and then the werewolf reared up like he were possessed. 

_Well, he_ is _possessed_ , Stiles thought, on the verge of giggling hysterically. _By mountain ash and a foreign wolf spirit. Oh my god, how is this my life! Come on now, don’t jerk him around if you don’t mean it!_ Heal him already _, dammit!_

He forced himself to stare at the gruesome display of moving, bulging skin and black vomit once again flowing from Peter’s lip. There was no breathing, at least that he could see, and probably no heartbeat either. Derek’s terrified crouch against the huge metal foot of the transformer tower said enough. 

“Heal him!” Stiles repeated, this time screamed out loud. All of his belief in the magic of the mountain ash and Scott’s freed wolf _flowed_ into his words. He could almost see them wind their way into Peter’s mouth and nose and ears, joining forces with the ash and the wolf spirits already fighting for Peter’s life. 

After that, Stiles had nothing more to give. He was wrung out, he hurt all over, and he just wanted this horrible night to be over. 

As he teetered on the edge of unconsciousness, Derek’s warm body sat heavily down next to him, and a strong arm curled around his shoulders. 

Neither said anything for horrifying minutes. 

At some point, Peter’s body finally stopped expelling black, disgusting stuff. Almost like a puppet someone else was moving, he slowly rolled onto his side and heaved himself up on his forearms. 

Then, Peter sucked in a deep, desperate breath, and Stiles burst into shocked tears. 

oOo

How they’d managed to not get stopped by cops as they fled the scene Stiles would probably never know. Maybe his dad had pulled some strings, or maybe some magic deity had taken pity on them and decided that they’d suffered enough that night. 

Stiles would take it, even if he had no idea how they’d deal with the surveillance footage. But that was a problem for later. 

Right now his only job was to keep Peter upright in the jeep, have as much skin on skin contact with him as possible, and keep it together long enough to make it home. Thankfully Derek was driving because Stiles wasn’t sure he would’ve been able to even start the car. 

It was decided to go to Stiles’ house because it had wards and because Stiles’ father, after having recovered from learning what had happened, ordered them to go there if they didn’t want to bring Peter to the hospital. 

“The whole sheriff department is awake by now,” John told them. “I’ve decided to throw Scott and the Argents under the bus, so they’ll have better things to do than ambush you. Peter will have to play a part, but I’m pretty sure he’ll have no problem with it.” 

Peter, who was far more out of it than not, hummed softly. His a little too hot to be normal shoulder pressed tightly against Stiles’ and his equally hot hand rested possessively on the teen’s thigh like he couldn’t bear to let go. His other hand was loosely curled around Derek’s wrist and moved with it as Derek used the gearshift. 

Even though Peter was so gross that it would put a hardened vagrant to shame, Stiles was nearly blissed out by the blatant show of trust and gratitude ... and he was fairly certain that Derek felt the same. 

“No one’s at the house yet, so get in there, get settled, and prepare for questioning. I thought we’d spin it like this …” And the sheriff began crafting a tale that had Derek sit up and take notice of the deviousness and Peter smile crookedly. 

They reached the house while at it and slunk inside amidst the first sprinkles of rain, only allowing themselves a breath of relief when the alarm was set and a skitter across Stiles’ skin told him that the wards were still good despite his exhaustion. 

“We’ll stay as close to the truth as possible and decide on details later. Right now the deputies won’t need a full report,” John said, yawning abruptly. “I’m just glad that the story as a whole might be outlandish, but not too far out there.” 

“We’ll get through it, dad,” Stiles murmured. “And thanks for not busting Scott out. I guess that makes me a terrible person.” 

“Kid, he helped kidnap an officer of the law. Even if that hadn’t been me, I wouldn’t have let him walk away from that,” his father replied. “I’m done for, to be honest, but I’ll stay at the station for a couple more hours to give my report and find out what forensics have pulled from the scene. Don’t wait up, alright?” 

“Not sure I can do that. Peter desperately needs a bath,” Stiles smiled tentatively at Peter, who was lounging in the sheriff’s armchair and made every appearance of being asleep. “You think I can keep the deputies away from him until he’s slept?” 

“I’ll make sure they know not to press,” his father promised. “You’ve all been through the wringer tonight, tomorrow is soon enough. And don’t worry too much about the damage to the transformer station. I know for a fact that the cameras have been down for weeks. The rain will take care of the rest. Love you, take care.” 

“You too, dad,” Stiles answered, feeling annoyingly wobbly at the soft words. 

“You’ll really think of something to explain all this?” Derek asked once Stiles had hung up. He’d made himself small, even though he had the whole sofa to himself. “There’s almost an hour between us leaving the preserve and getting here. Your father’s people will ask … they'll probably reconstruct our path. Your jeep’s well-known around town.” 

“Dude, I’ve learned my bullshitting skills at my dad’s knee. He’s probably writing things up for us as we speak, we can go over it tomorrow and poke holes in it before we have to go to the station.” Stiles put his phone away and gesticulated towards Peter. “You’ll help me clean him up, right? Because there’s no way I’m getting him dragged up the stairs by myself.” 

“Yes, of course,” Derek murmured. He stood, grabbed his snoozing uncle around the waist, and manoeuvred him upstairs without another word. 

In the master bathroom, Stiles tried not to stare as Derek undressed the barely cooperating man, but it was hard. Despite his healing factor having kicked in, Peter was still looking beyond rough. A grey film covered him all over, his hair was matted with sweat and dirt, and his clothes were bloody and torn. There also was the horrid wound in his side that, while it had saved his life, was slow to heal. Besides that Peter _stank_ \- werewolf poisoning via wolfsbane really was no joke. 

“What do you think, rinse first and soak second?” Stiles asked. He blushed when Derek sliced open Peter’s pant legs and took the fabric away. “Oy, TMI on the body front.” 

“Get over it, werewolves don’t have much use for modesty,” Derek retorted. The ghost of a smile flitted over his drawn, tired face. “We usually lose clothes almost faster than we can replace them.” 

“Why?” Stiles asked, automatically helping Derek to steady Peter under the spray of the showerhead. The grey sludge was reluctant to leave Peter’s skin so with a sigh Stiles resigned himself to soaping a washcloth and scrubbing away at Peter’s face, neck, and upper body. His fiery blush made Derek chuckle quietly. “Shut it. In case you didn’t know, consent is sexy. Peter hasn’t given his consent to this. Therefore, this is not sexy.” 

“Have no complaints,” Peter murmured without opening his eyes. He made a sound suspiciously like a purr when Stiles went over the sculpted planes of his chest. “Anything’s better than tha’ stink.” 

“See,” Derek said, sounding decidedly unimpressed. 

“What about your clothes?” Stiles returned to his question. “Why are you losing them so quickly? I didn’t think you actually went around looking for fights.” 

“In packs, there are often play fights,” Derek explained. “They can start anywhere, anytime. It’s normal. But clothes aren’t really a match for our claws and fangs. So, losing stuff is pretty expected in packs, at least when we’re home. Clothes for going out is a different matter but even then we don’t expect them to last long.” 

“Beg to differ,” Peter hummed. “I’ll kill anyone who gets near my wardrobe. ‘s in the contract.” 

Stiles snorted out a laugh because that was _true_. 

“We can hose him down now,” Derek said. “And then leave him in the bath for an hour or so. That should break down the last of the … odor.” 

“We all wish,” Peter murmured. “Stiles, could I trouble you for something to eat?” 

“Of course. Sandwiches okay?” Stiles asked. 

“Whatever’s on hand. Thank you.” 

“Go, I have it under control now,” Derek told him. He looked at Stiles, face unreadable. “Do you need money, in case you want to order in?” 

“Nah, it’s all good, dude. See you in a few.” 

Stiles left the bathroom on aching legs, whimpering and cursing every step of the way. Should there be any hot water left once Peter was done, he’d consider himself the luckiest guy on the planet. 

Thankfully the muscles his arms weren’t nearly as exhausted as the rest of him and the preparing of a huge platter full of sandwiches went fairly smoothly. He even went as far as boiling a whole carton of eggs to give the sandwiches some extra protein. 

He was just putting the top slices onto the sandwiches when the doorbell rang. After the night he’d had, Stiles grabbed the taser from the hallway table drawer before he peered through the peephole. Discovering that the late night callers were two announced deputies, Stiles opened the door and waved them inside. 

“Hey guys,” he greeted, taking care to sound appropriately exhausted, which wasn’t hard at all. “My dad told me you’d be by. Uhm, the Hales aren’t up to answering a lot of questions right now.” 

“Your dad said,” Tara Graeme said with a sharp nod. “Understandable, but I gotta say, this is some weird ass story, kid. _Scott McCall_ in cahoots with a sicko of Marcus Jacoby’s calibre? That’s hard to believe.” 

“You better believe it,” Stiles answered, the fury in him roaring to life again. “I was there.” 

Tara eyed him intently. “Okay. You mind telling us what happened?” 

“Bullet points, if that’s okay. I’m half asleep on my feet and a little banged up,” Stiles bartered. 

“Sure, that works. Just the events of tonight, but tomorrow I want the whole story. Also, pictures. That’s a nasty bruise you’re sporting.” 

Tara followed Stiles to the living room and the other deputy went upstairs after Stiles’ okay to exchange a few words with Derek and get a visual on Peter for the sheriff station’s peace of mind. For a quarter of an hour she listened to Stiles’ account of the events, which he purposefully left vague here and there to make himself appear less involved and knowledgeable. What he did get across clearly, however, was his fear for his father and his incredulity at what Scott had done. 

“Thank you, Stiles. That sounds like an ordeal.” Tara put her writing pad and the recorder away and got to her feet. “We’ll make sure to get to the bottom of this, I promise. No one abducts our sheriff without coming to regret it for the rest of their life.” 

“Thanks, we appreciate it,” Stiles replied sincerely. “And for what it’s worth … I’m sorry for not calling you before going there. It’s just … after Gerard Argent’s threats I couldn’t take chances.” 

Her normally cool expression softened. “Hey, if there’s anything we understand, it’s that.” She patted his shoulder. “Eat something, get some sleep. We’ll patrol the neighbourhood and take you for your interviews tomorrow, if you need a ride.” 

The other deputy, Keene, tipped his hat at Stiles. “Whenever you and the Hales are ready. They’re both pretty traumatized; I’ll put in a recommendation for counselling.” 

“For you, too,” Tara said before Stiles could even make a face. “Sleep well. You did good tonight getting everyone out alive.” 

“Well, everyone that matters,” Keene said under his breath, earning himself an elbow to the side. 

The deputies left then and Stiles went first to use the bathroom and then into the kitchen, only to find the platter of sandwiches gone. In fact, the whole kitchen was spotless, even the breadcrumbs had been wiped off the counter. 

_Derek, you ninja_ , Stiles thought admiringly. He sighed up at the stairs. “There’d better be one left, guys.” 

Derek appeared at the top of the stairs and bounded down in two jumps. “Let me help you upstairs. I saved you a sandwich and some fruit.” 

It was astoundingly enjoyable to be more or less carried up to his room. Derek even helped him get out of his pants and T-shirt and handed him sweats and a clean shirt for bed. 

“I could get used to this,” Stiles joked as he was pushed down on the bed, next to Peter who had already crashed there. A plate with his sandwich followed and a glass of water was already waiting for him on his bedside table. “How’re you doing? Is the adrenaline crashing yet? Mine’s crashing big time. And the ouchies, dear god. That won’t be fun tomorrow.” 

Derek ignored his babbling and simply placed a warm hand on Stiles’ forearm. At once black lines appeared on his skin and the absence of pain in Stiles’ body left the teen woozy. 

“Eat, Stiles,” Derek said, sitting down on Stiles’ other side. 

“And then sleep,” Peter rumbled, opening one blue eye and looking up at Stiles. “Hot water’s gone anyway.” 

“Fantastic,” Stiles sighed, but he leaned against the headboard and fell into the simple pleasure of not being alone after yet another hair-raising adventure. With some creativity he could almost pretend that the two Hales were close friends staying for a sleepover. Not even the difference in their ages could ruin that fantasy - after only having one real friend for so long, and losing that friend in such a terrible manner, nothing really could. 

Stiles refused to feel pathetic for that, and when Derek tugged him down for some much needed sleep a little later, he went gladly and didn’t even flush when both Derek and Peter’s arms went over his waist. 

  
  


**End of chapter 24**


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

  
  


When Stiles woke on Sunday morning, he took a moment to take stock of himself and his surroundings. The werewolf mojo was no longer working, seeing as there were no werewolves in bed with him, so his bruised body was busy sending urgent signals that something was Not Okay. There was, however, a fresh glass of water on his nightstand, a blister strip full of pain pills sitting beside it. 

Stiles eschewed the painkillers but drank down the water to combat the disgustingly muzzy feel in his mouth. 

“You look like a train ran you over,” Isaac’s voice commented. 

Flailing in shock, Stiles nearly threw the empty glass across the room. “Jesus fucking Christ!” 

“Not quite,” Isaac said, and he sounded _pissy_. “I’m glad you’re alive, Stiles, but _fuck you_ for not even texting me to say that everything’s alright. I was going out of my mind!” 

“I thought Peter did,” Stiles replied, flopping down onto his back and trying to calm his hammering heart down. “He was awake for a bit after we got here.” 

“Peter’s phone was fried,” Isaac said peevishly. “In case you’ve forgotten.” 

Stiles winced. “Yeah, I guess it was. Sorry, truly. I was pretty fucked up last night. Why didn’t Derek do it? You guys talk, don’t you?” 

“Derek probably thought it wasn’t his _place_ ,” Isaac snarled. He got up from Stiles’ desk chair - and yeah, thanks but no thanks to future creepy sleep watching, dude - and stomped over to the bed. “Scoot over. I need to aggressively cuddle the shit out of your doofus ass before I kill you.” 

“Er, okay.” Stiles tried to make room but only managed to jostle his stiff ribs and limbs and his hurting everything, really. “Ouch. Not having wolfy powers sucks.” 

Huffing, Isaac settled down right next to Stiles and pulled him into an embrace. “You could’ve died. Peter told me what happened, and what you did for him.” He stared at Stiles. “I can hardly believe that you actually managed to save him, but Derek swears it’s true.” 

“It was _so_ gross,” Stiles mumbled against Isaac’s neck. “Let’s never do that again.” 

“I’ll definitely try not to get poisoned by crazy hunters,” Isaac retorted dryly. He was silent for a bit and then, very quietly, he asked, “Would you do the same for me? And Derek?” 

“Dude, what kind of question is that!” Stiles squawked. 

Isaac curled a hand around Stiles’ neck and at once the pain all over his body lessened. “It’s a good question. Peter’s the alpha. You’re in negotiations with _him_. That doesn’t mean you’ll pull off crazy stunts like that for the rest of us.” 

“First of all, eff you for basically implying that you aren’t my friend. And second of all, yeah, it does. That’s how I roll.” Stiles flushed a little. “I might be a bit possessive when I’ve adopted someone, okay.” 

“Okay,” Isaac said easily and snuffled along Stiles’ hairline. “I would pull crazy stunts for you, too, you know. I was super pissed when Peter told me to stay home. I could’ve helped. At least afterwards, when he was dying.” 

“You’ll hate me for it, but I’m glad you weren’t there,” Stiles told him honestly. “It was horrible. Plus, he bit you, and I have no idea how a beta reacts when their alpha dies. Because Peter was _dead_ there for a moment or ten.” He shuddered. “Seriously, I still can’t believe we managed to pull him back somehow. I’m half waiting for me to wake up and realize that everything’s gone to shit, that Jacoby is the alpha now, or maybe Derek, and what new fuckery will come for us next.” 

“Well, Jacoby’s very dead,” Isaac informed him. “Your dad left info downstairs, including pictures.” 

“Oh. Really?” 

Isaac snorted softly. “Oh yes, but don’t ask me how. His deputies sent him to the hospital last night and they kept him there; apparently he’d told no one about that kick to the ribs and his people went a little crazy when they found out by accident.” 

“Dammit, dad,” Stiles cursed. 

“Anyway, they’re very detailed pictures, too,” Isaac went on. “Put me off breakfast for today, but on the plus side, Jacoby’s death has been ruled an animal attack which he tried to fend off by shooting several guns.” 

“After the rest of us managed to flee?” Stiles asked, raising his eyebrows as high as they’d go. 

“Yeah, apparently.” Isaac suddenly laughed. “You know, they commended Jacoby for at least not being a shitty camper, even if he was a psycho. Apparently his campfire was put out neatly before he bit the dust.” 

“He was a little too dead to do it, but whatever,” Stiles huffed. “This case will have so many holes in it, the fire won’t even register when all is said and done.” 

“Your dad knew you’d say that. He wrote a note and I quote …” Isaac pulled the handwritten letter from his back pocket, “... that not everything has to make sense, least of all to the victims. Stay true to our agreed story and things’ll blow over quickly enough.” Isaac put the letter down and enfolded Stiles fully with his arms. “I’m not so worried about the Argents or Jacoby, in any case. I think Scott will be the true problem for you guys.” 

“Because he’ll rant to everyone and their mother about werewolves and hunters?” Stiles asked dubiously. 

“I wouldn’t put it past him,” Isaac hummed. 

“He could try to go that route,” Stiles admitted after a moment of thought. The vindictive pleasure he was feeling at the knowledge of Scott no longer being a werewolf was almost indecent. But only almost. “Delusions like that are always good for an insanity plea. Do you know by any chance whether he had to spend the night in a cell?” 

“As a matter of fact,” Peter answered in Isaac’s stead, “he did.” He mockingly knocked at the door frame before entering the room. “And he was a brat about it if your father’s text can be believed. Apparently dear Melissa couldn’t cut her shift short to see him because the hospital is chronically understaffed, and The Failure took it out on her.” 

“Wow,” was all Stiles could think to say about that. He shook his head in disbelief. “I’d hoped that Scott would catch a clue now, but apparently that’s wishful thinking.” 

“I’m afraid that it’ll remain wishful thinking for a long while yet,” Peter said. He walked around the bed, sat on the empty side, and offered a cup of coffee to Stiles. He was still pale, but he looked freshly washed and ready for the day. “Derek ran over to the station to give his statement and pick up some gossip. McCall is the topic of much discussion over there. Some believe that he’s the victim of extensive gaslighting by the Argents and McCall’s certainly doing his level best to paint himself as a victim.” 

“That rat bastard,” Isaac growled. “I hope not too many people will fall for that bullshit.” 

“Yeah, not cool.” Stiles carefully struggled into a sitting position, only made possible by Isaac’s pain leech and the lure of caffeine. To his great joy, the coffee was just how he liked it, full of cream and with a tiny amount of sugar. “Mmh, thanks Peter.” 

“Anything for you, Stiles,” Peter replied, sounding both casual and sincere. “Your father instructed us to go to the hospital before we go to the station to give our statements. My injuries have largely healed but he wants yours to go on record so McCall can at least be charged with assault.” 

Stiles flinched a little at that. “Right. I’d almost forgotten …” He poked his swollen cheek. “Ow. Werewolf strength sucks sometimes.” 

“I can come with you, right?” Isaac asked, eyes going from Stiles to Peter and back. “Don’t leave me at home again.” 

“Nah, you can come,” Stiles said, taking another drink of his coffee. “I don’t wanna take too many painkillers, they always make me loopy and slow.” 

“We should definitely avoid that,” Peter agreed. He wound an arm around Stiles’ shoulders and shamelessly plastered himself against the teen’s side. His hand reached even further and Isaac wasted no time at all in squeezing against Stiles’ other side so Peter could place his fingers around the back of his neck for some much needed reassurance. “We’ll go see your father at the hospital as well, clear up some last minute concerns.” 

“He’ll probably be under guard,” Stiles cautioned, “what with the Argents still brassed off about Gerard’s death and stuff.” 

Peter’s pleasant smile turned smug. “I know. How do you think the information packet made it here? Your father has a lot of friends among his deputies.” 

“Oh.” 

“You didn’t know?” Peter asked. 

“I’m a little … surprised, I guess,” Stiles confessed. He sunk a little lower and bit his lip. “I don’t like to talk about it but … well, my dad wasn’t doing so great after my mom was gone. Drank a little too much, wasn’t at home a few nights too many …” Stiles shrugged and lowered his eyes to his coffee cup so he didn’t have to watch anyone’s reaction. “Just … I knew he was a good boss at work, and the deputies always had time for me if he couldn’t leave me with Scott and Melissa, but I didn’t know that he had a lot of _friends_ there. I feel kind of awful now. I should’ve realized.” 

“It’s not your job to be informed of every detail of your father’s life, sweetheart,” Peter murmured. “He’s very understanding about our situation and remarkably sanguine about our negotiations, but that doesn’t negate years of leaving you alone with your grief.” 

“I wasn’t _alone_ ,” Stiles muttered. 

“But Melissa and The Failure weren’t what you really needed, either,” Peter countered. “If you looked elsewhere to deal with your grief, he has no one to blame but himself. Apparently he did it and never bothered to inform you. In fact, I’m rather unimpressed that whatever progress he’s made at work never made it to your home.” 

“Besides, it’s creepy to stalk your own parent because they won’t talk to you about the stuff that’s going on in their life,” Isaac added. “I’m kinda glad you didn’t go quite that far. You’re plenty _curious_ already.” 

Stiles smiled crookedly, only for his face to fall again. “Peter … can we tell Boyd and Erica soon?” 

“Why so urgent all of a sudden?” Peter asked, no censure in his voice, only polite curiosity. 

Turning his head a little, Stiles looked him in the eyes. “Being alone all the time sucks. Isaac hates being left behind, I only have my dad, and Derek really needs more exposure to happy people. Even if they choose not to accept your Bite, they could be good friends. They already are to me.” 

“I like them, too,” Isaac said. “Besides, Boyd could use some help at home.” 

“How so?” Peter asked. 

Isaac pressed himself even closer to Stiles and let out a little rumble when Peter’s grip on his neck tightened. “He’s working a lot to support his grandma. After his mom left and his dad died, she’s raised him on her pension. They make do, but it’s not great.” 

“Boyd’s in the Air Force ROTC program, too,” Stiles supplied, “so he’s already used to the idea of combat training, even if he hasn’t started yet.” 

“I see. You have updated their files?” 

Stiles nodded. “I can send it to you whenever, just say the word.” 

“Give it another month or two, just to see if you hit any snags in your friendship. It’s still in the early stages and you haven’t quite lost the rose-coloured glasses yet,” Peter said. He twitched suddenly and then paled. “Excuse me.” 

“What the-” Stiles stared at Peter’s swiftly retreating back and winced when the door to the bathroom shut with an audible snick. “What was that?” 

Isaac slumped a little. “Peter’s alive, but he’s been … unwell on and off every couple of hours.” 

“He’s what? Since when do you know? And wait, how long have you even been here that you know this?” Stiles cried. He tried to get up, nearly sloshing his coffee all over himself. “Fuck, help me up!” 

It was clear that Isaac didn’t want to, but he did help Stiles to his feet and even placed his coffee cup onto the desk before guiding him along the hallway. “Don’t be shocked, okay?” 

“Let that be my-” Stiles opened the bathroom door … and froze at the sight of Peter spitting black goo into the sink. “Concern. Peter! What the hell is going on? What’s this? I thought you were fine?” 

“I’m better,” Peter sighed, turning on the tab to rinse his mouth. “Which, compared to being _dead_ , is certainly true. But I’m not fine, not by a long shot. My body will have to work hard to expel all the wolfsbane, probably for a couple of weeks. Maybe even longer.” 

“Shit. That totally sucks,” Stiles declared. He teetered forward and plastered himself to Peter’s back. “I’m sorry. I thought the healing stuff was done.” 

The werewolf caught his weight with a surprised sound but didn’t make a move to push him away. “It does suck, but I’d rather heal slowly than be beyond help altogether.” 

Stiles expelled his breath in a deep sigh. “Okay. Uhm, is that why Scott’s wolf spark is still … you know, inside?” 

“How do you know it hasn’t left yet, or been absorbed?” Peter asked. He straightened himself subtly and turned a little so his tender left side was covered by Stiles’ body. 

Somehow, Stiles’ lizard brain comprehended that the small and yet significant show of vulnerability was something special … and that getting so close to a grown ass man with Peter’s level of attractiveness was probably a bad idea. 

“I, er, I didn’t know, actually. I just assumed.” Stiles winced. “Stupid, I know. But, he went in there to help, so I thought he’s still doing that, if this spewing goo thing is still going on. Although I sure hope that the mountain ash isn’t doing something weird to your squishy insides because ewww.” 

“Charming,” Peter smirked. “Well, regarding your wolf spark, your deduction, while not wholly based on evidence, is quite sound regardless. It _is_ still inside of me and aiding my own spark in healing the damage.” 

“I’m honestly glad that I somehow got him away from Scott,” Stiles confessed. “Not just to get even with Scott, although that’s pretty great, but because he must’ve been so unhappy with him. Just imagine being a spark of magic in a host that hates you.” He shivered. “He deserves better.” 

Peter’s eyes flashed red and then amber for a moment, which made Isaac gasp in shock. Even Peter himself looked a little disconcerted. “I … have never known something like this to happen, but it seems that the wolf spirit agrees with you. It is … happy to have you near.” 

A grin crept over Stiles’ lips. “Really? Aw, I liked having you with me, too, buddy. Hang in there, you’re doing a great job.” 

“I’ve only ever heard of an alpha giving up their alpha powers to save a packmate, but for a packmate to essentially _lend_ their sparks to do the reverse …” Peter shook his head, puzzled. “If it happened before, it hasn’t ever been recorded. And every alpha spark that has been sacrificed has been used up.” 

“Maybe it’s just a Stiles thing,” Isaac suggested. “Derek told me that there were a lot of talismans and stuff on you - it could’ve been magic.” 

Stiles flushed a little with pleasure at the words. “You think?” 

Shrugging, Isaac crossed his arms in front of his chest and leaned against the doorframe. “Peter’s got mountain ash inside of him and it hasn’t made him explode, yet. I’d say that speaks of magic.” 

“He’s not wrong,” Peter murmured. He patted Stiles’ shoulder and brushed his thumb over his neck for a pain drain. “How about you let the shower do its magic now? I don’t want to be rude, especially since I used up all of the hot water last night, but you do smell a little ripe.” 

“Ugh, yeah, absolutely.” Stiles stepped back decisively. “And then breakfast?” 

“We made pancakes,” Isaac said proudly. “With _yogurt_.” 

Stiles brightened up at this. “Fantastic. I’ll be down in ten … hopefully. If not, one of you come look for me. I might’ve fallen and broken my hip.” 

“It’d be funny if you didn’t mean it seriously.” Isaac looked torn between worry and entertainment. 

“Ten minutes,” Peter assured Stiles. “Isaac will help you if necessary and I’ll heat the pancakes for you and get you a fresh cup of coffee.” 

He left and Stiles got out of his sweats and T-shirt with Isaac’s help. Normally, he’d have been mortified to be seen in the buff by the other boy, but despite Peter’s pain drain he was aching all over and just wanted some hot water to ease his bruised muscles. 

“Scott really got you good,” Isaac commented while Stiles was scrubbing himself down behind the shower curtain. “That bruise on your face looks nasty.” 

“Feels nasty too,” Stiles spluttered around the water running into his mouth. “Should I ice it before we go to the hospital?” 

“Well, our pain drain will get you through the day, and the more spectacular the bruise looks on the police photos, the more it’ll get Scott into trouble. But it’s your call.” 

Stiles pondered this as he finished washing off his legs and uncapped the shampoo to tackle his hair next. “I suppose that’ll work. This whole thing will make the news, right?” 

“No escaping that, I’m afraid,” Isaac replied. “Derek’s already texted about a couple of reporters camping out at the station.” 

“Right. Then we might as well milk it for all it’s worth,” Stiles decided. He began washing his hair with broad, impatient strokes of his palms. “By the way, where is Derek anyway? If he’s being interviewed, he shouldn’t be able to text, so is he out of there already?” 

“Nah, he hasn’t even started yet. He’s hanging around waiting for the lawyer Peter called an hour or so ago.” 

“Huh.” Stiles rinsed his hair and turned off the water. “I’m getting out now. You got a towel ready?” 

Isaac did one better and swaddled Stiles like a toddler while still in the bathtub. Only then did he help him step over the rim. “Can you dress yourself?” 

“I think so,” Stiles said. 

Back in his room, as he carefully put on a new pair of sweats and shirt, he asked, “So, who is this lawyer?” 

Isaac had a very interesting expression on his face as he said with obvious relish, “Get ready to have your mind blown ... it’s Jackson’s dad.” 

It took a moment for Stiles’ brain to actually compute this information, but then he threw his head back and _roared_ with laughter until there were tears in his eyes. A tiny part of him felt sorry for Melissa, but wow, what a turn of events! 

“Peter thought you’d like that,” Isaac said, grinning too. “Ready for breakfast now?” 

  
  


**End of chapter 25**


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sigh, somehow the talky chapters are the most difficult ones. Not a lot is actually happening, but there are things going on. So, enjoy? Maybe?

**Chapter 26**

All morning, Stiles felt disgustingly pampered, and he enjoyed it quite a bit once he’d gotten used to the idea that he actually _deserved_ to be pampered. It was no surprise that Peter’s pancakes were fantastic, but there was also fresh fruit and real whipped cream, and when it was time to get dressed, Isaac helped him into a pair of jeans and his customary T-shirt and plaid combination without even a hint of impatience. 

Some of it might have been prompted by the truly spectacular bruise on his face, but mostly, Stiles came to believe, it was from having done good for their small family. _Real_ good. Isaac did seem like the type to not forget such a thing easily, or at all. 

Stiles glowed a little inside at the thought of having forged a lasting connection to the other boy. Every one of Isaac’s actions so far, even the dry teasing, had been more brotherly than anything Scott had managed in the last four or so months. And Isaac didn’t make empty promises either, which triggered Stiles’ soft spot so hard that it was almost ridiculous. 

At last Peter helped Stiles into a black jacket - not his own but something completely new - and assisted him in getting into the passenger seat of the jeep. 

“I can drive,” Stiles protested half-heartedly. 

“You could,” Peter agreed and buckled himself in, “but you don’t have to. I’d like for you to take it easy at least until a doctor has looked you over. Isaac and I won’t go anywhere, and as soon as Derek is done with giving his statement, he’ll probably want to pitch in as well.” 

“Fine,” Stiles sighed. “She really does grind in second, so be careful, okay?” 

“Of course,” Peter murmured. “That reminds me that I owe you a new set of keys.” 

“Yeah, you do,” Stiles huffed, flushing a little when Peter’s lips curled up in amusement. 

The jeep started, purring like a happy kitten under Peter’s touch. Stiles watched like a hawk, but the werewolf knew how to drive and he was careful when shifting gears. In no time at all they rolled onto the parking lot of Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital and went in as quickly as Stiles could manage so they wouldn’t get drenched by an oncoming shower. 

Since Stiles’ arrival had been announced by the sheriff station, he was whisked away almost immediately for his examination. The doctor filling out the report for the police investigation was kind and professional and only asked a few questions for clarification for the forensic experts so Stiles wouldn’t have to go into a lot of detail during the actual giving of the statement. 

“Nurse Amanda has already called the radiology,” Dr. Lee said after the report was done and the pictures had been taken. “Your zygomatic bone might be fractured, and I don’t like the swelling at all. Your friend hit you very hard; I almost can’t believe that he didn’t punch you with full force.” 

“He’s first string at lacrosse,” Stiles muttered. The ache was slowly creeping back and he yearned for another dose of werewolf painkillers. 

“No matter what excuse that young man comes up with, he should’ve known better,” Dr. Lee said firmly. “There’ll definitely be a trial and I promise you that I’ll make it very clear that this blow could’ve snapped your neck under slightly different circumstances.” 

Stiles’ breath stalled and his heart jumped unpleasantly in his chest. “What?” 

“If the angle had been only slightly different, the force of the blow could’ve jerked your head around far enough that your spinal cord might’ve snapped,” Dr. Lee explained. “I know that you and Scott are friends, but I can’t in good conscience let that boy get off with a slap on the wrist.” 

“No, I … I’d never ask it of you,” Stiles said numbly. “Thank you. I mean that. Thanks.” 

“Radiology will be ready for you in just a few minutes. Someone will wheel you down … no, don’t argue. Your pupil check was a bit iffy as well, I’m not taking any chances. Whatever else you need to get better, rest should be at the top of that list.” 

With that, Stiles was dismissed, a recipe for painkillers in one hand and a lolly in the other. 

“I heard,” Peter said quietly as they sat back on the plastic chairs to wait for the nurse. “I’m sorry.” 

“Not your fault,” Stiles said tiredly. “It’s just a shock.” 

Carefully, Peter laid his hand onto Stiles’ forearm, taking his pain. At Stiles’ back, Isaac was rumbling sorrowfully. They sat like that until the nurse arrived, and Stiles didn’t even think about protesting Peter and Isaac coming with him as he was wheeled away. He already knew that he’d probably have an MRI instead of a simple X-ray, just to rule out a concussion. It’d take longer and he wasn’t a fan of the tight tube so it was a comfort to know the two werewolves close by. 

“All will be well,” Peter said, taking his hand away from Stiles’ neck at the last moment. “Think of your father, visiting will be your reward.” 

“My reward better be curly fries,” Stiles called over his shoulder. Then the door was closed and he was shuffled into the MRI. “How long will this take?” 

The doctor, one middle-aged lady by the name of Sandy Smith, smiled encouragingly. “Fifteen minutes. Do you need earplugs or some music?” 

“Earplugs, please. I think I’ll just snooze a little.” 

The doctor handed over the plugs and stayed with Stiles until he was settled in the MRI machine. It was only his head and neck, thankfully, and the earplugs helped a little to lessen the hammering noise. 

Stiles indeed managed to fall into a light slumber, although it wasn’t a particularly restful one. His face began to hurt again, and now, after Dr. Lee’s statement about narrowly having escaped death, or a serious paralysis at the very least, he felt a phantom pain in his neck as well. It was spooky and uncomfortable and only his forcefully deep and even breaths saved him from a panic attack. 

“You did well,” Dr. Smith told him once it was over. “Unfortunately you do have a hairline fracture in your zygomatic bone, which you can’t do a lot about except managing the pain and staying off it during sleep for several weeks. I’m sorry.” 

“Not your fault,” Stiles said dully a second time that morning. “Thanks, doc.” 

“On the plus side, the muscles in your neck are strained somewhat, but not dangerously so, and you don’t have a concussion. Your headaches and the sore neck should get better during the next week. In my opinion, you won’t need a neck guard, but maybe you should get a second opinion on that. The guys down in physio have a light morning, it might be worth a shot.” 

“It’s great that nothing is sprained or bruised.” 

She smiled encouragingly. “Yes, absolutely. However, we really do have to take care of the fracture and the swelling in your face. I’ll put you in my calendar myself; I want to see you every week to monitor the injury. School’s out for this week, and no sports of any kind until the bone is completely healed. Right now you’ll need a lot of rest, good food, and some extra vitamin D to help with the healing.” 

“What about ice packs?” Stiles asked. “Should I use them if I already take pain meds?” 

“Absolutely, but no direct contact to the skin. Wrap the pack into a towel or a washcloth and apply several times a day, especially in the beginning.” She clicked around a little in his patient file. “Ah, Dr. Lee has already written a prescription, that’s good. He’ll advise you if you have any questions regarding your medication, so don’t hesitate to ask.” She smirked a little. “Your file states that you’re not so good with pain meds in general, let’s find out how you’re faring with this one, then.” 

“Har, har,” Stiles huffed. 

“Sorry,” she laughed. “It’s quite rare to come across someone who’s so intolerant to them. You might want to think about a gene check, there are some mutations that can inhibit your body from processing meds the way they’re intended to be processed.” 

“Maybe later.” Stiles grimaced. “Not to be rude or anything, but I have to go to the sheriff station after this to give a statement … can we wrap this up?” 

“Certainly. Your next appointment is on Friday at ten if the injury isn't getting worse. Come in immediately if it does, alright? Any new pain, any unusual discolouration of the skin, and you’re back here.” 

“I promise, doc,” Stiles sighed, because what else could he say with two nosy werewolves listening in? “I hope I don’t have to, though.” 

“I hope so, too,” she replied gently. “In case the court asks for my statement, I’ll be in your corner.” She shook Stiles’ hand and ushered him out. 

Isaac was there at once, taking Stiles’ pain and murmuring assurances that he and Peter would take turns staying with him as long as he was hurting just so he wouldn’t have to take the pills. 

“You’re great friends,” Stiles told him and Peter earnestly. “I think I love you a little.” 

“Only a little?” Isaac scoffed. 

“It’s early days,” Peter murmured. “He’ll love us a lot eventually. Just wait and see.” 

Stiles blushed hotly but couldn’t deny the little thrill of pleasure he felt at that proclamation. Previous murder rampage or no, he could appreciate someone who was so committed, especially if it was to him. 

Oh yes, Peter Hale was _dangerous_. 

oOo 

“Hey, kid,” the sheriff greeted Stiles when they’d finally made their way to his room and past the two guards. “Fancy neck guard you've got there.“

The door was barely closed when Stiles nearly ran over to the bed his father was lying in and hugged him fiercely but carefully. “How’re the ribs? I could kill Jacoby if he weren’t already dead.” 

“Two are snapped and a couple more are bruised, but nothing went into my lung or anywhere else,” John reported dutifully. “It hurts quite a bit, though.” 

“Do you require a pain drain?” Peter asked politely, despite being aware of the IV and the morphine pump attached to the sheriff’s arm. 

“Nah, but thanks for the offer. I’m not half as bad on meds as Stiles.” John smiled grimly. “What’s the verdict, then?” 

“Hairline fracture in the cheekbone, no concussion, strained neck muscles, Scott could’ve paralysed or killed me if he’d impacted me a little differently,” Stiles rattled off. “The doctors said they’ll testify against Scott if they’re called.” 

“I’m so sorry,” the sheriff said, all joviality gone from his face. “If I hadn’t been subjected to it myself, I wouldn’t have believed it if someone told me that Scott aided and abetted that man.” 

“He has that effect on people,” Stiles agreed. “I feel really, really stupid that I didn’t notice before.” 

“You never had a reason to,” his father comforted him. “You never were at odds for longer than a couple of days, and certainly not over something life-impacting.” 

“You think it’ll stop, now that he’s back to square one?” Stiles asked. He sat in the chair next to his father’s bed and placed his hand on the man’s arm. “I need it to stop.” 

John regarded him silently for a moment and then said, “We all do.” 

They visited for a little longer, learned that the sheriff would stay for another three to four days from the visiting doctor, and promised to get some things for him from home to make the confinement easier. 

“I could cook for you,” Peter offered then, turning up his nose a little at the half empty cup of hospital coffee on John’s bedside table. “The food in this hospital is subpar, to put it mildly. It certainly won’t help you recover.” 

Stiles’ father offered a half-smile at the suggestion. “If you’ve got the time, be my guest. I’ll clear it with my deputies. Thank you, Hale.” 

“No, thank _you_.” 

The two men stared at each other, a strange current of understanding sizzling between them, nearly visible to Stiles’ eye. 

“Be careful on your way through town,” the sheriff said. “The Argents are agitated and I’ll be very cross with you all if you manage to get assassinated in broad daylight.” 

“What I don’t understand is how Jackson’s dad can represent the Hales when he is a public prosecutor?” Stiles asked. “I mean I get that it’s sort of the same thing in this case, but usually public prosecutors are all for getting their hands on the relevant information.” 

“Well, he isn’t a public prosecutor anymore,” Peter said, sounding rather smug. “And fun fact: we’ve known each other quite well before the fire, worked well enough, too, if you can believe it.” 

“But the organization chart,” Stiles spluttered. “Did they forget to update it _again_?” 

“It’s a problem,” the sheriff chuckled. “Whittemore hasn’t been a public prosecutor for almost four months and right now I’m very glad about that. He’s is an outstanding lawyer and for Peter’s sake alone he’ll do his level best to ruin the Argents.” 

“And McCall,” Peter added mildly. “I’m not sorry to admit that Whittemore’s son’s animosity with McCall is a personal boon. I honestly mourn the fact that I probably won’t get to see his face when he learns of this.” 

“I hope he’ll try to leave Melissa out of it,” Stiles’ father said pointedly, “because that woman is a fantastic mother and doesn’t deserve to be dragged through the mud.” 

“Oh, I know that. I quite enjoyed my date with her, short as it was.” 

Stiles nearly choked on his own spit while his father’s eyebrows rose significantly towards his hairline. 

“Rest assured that I’ve directed David to throw the book at The Failure, but to afford Melissa every courtesy,” Peter continued blithely. Behind him, Isaac wasn’t trying very hard to hide his laughter at the Stilinskis’ scandalized faces. “He’s also quite invested in getting me my life back. If all goes well, I’ll only have to sign a few forms next month and I can rejoin society as a fully functional member.” 

“I didn’t know things were progressing so well,” Stiles blurted out. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“Because you blacklisted David’s son, and because you had enough on your plate,” Peter replied. “Furthermore-” 

Stiles snorted at the needlessly articulate segue and Peter smirked. 

“ _Furthermore_ , I had no wish to argue about things that weren’t your concern.” Peter paused. “They still aren’t your concern.” 

“You’re an asshole, Peter,” Stiles snapped. “You think I’m unable to differentiate between Jackson’s doucheyness and his dad’s usefulness?” 

“Au contraire,” Peter said, “I think you’re very good at holding out the other cheek for the people you consider important. I just wasn’t willing to force you into a position where you had to do that, because it simply wasn’t necessary. Any lawyer could’ve assisted me in regaining my status and sorting out the inheritance issue. I wanted David because we were friendly when I was still practicing, and because he really is the best at what he does in at least five counties … since me, I should say.” 

Stiles huffed and crossed his arms in front of his chest, not acknowledging the bit of preening. “You should know me better by now. I _understand_ , okay.” 

“Understanding does not preclude resentment,” Peter told him, raising an eyebrow in the sheriff’s direction. 

Stiles flushed at the reminder of their earlier talk about his father’s neglect and clamped his mouth shut lest he said something they’d all regret. 

“David Whittemore is the fastest and most direct way to achieve my short term goals,” Peter went on, an air of finality in his voice. “Our relationship is not up to discussion at this moment. Once the whole sorry affair is resolved, we may revisit our discussion but until then I ask that you not poke at it.” 

“It’s a reasonable request,” Stiles’ father said gently. “You should go, give your statements, and then get the hell home because I can see you flagging, kid.” 

Stiles would rather die than admit that he was, indeed, flagging a little, so he just hugged his dad again and stomped from the room without another word. 

Isaac followed, sneaking a hand around Stiles’ wrist to help with the headache that had built in the last few minutes. He also forced a couple sips of water onto Stiles and engaged him into a discussion about his comic as they drove to the sheriff station so Stiles wouldn’t have to glower at Peter in broody silence. 

At the station, Deputy Keene greeted them at the parking lot and ushered them into the building via a side entrance. 

“The press has gotten wind of what’s happened,” he said apologetically. “Damn police radio scanners. They nearly trampled the scene in the preserve, despite forensics still working there.” Keene led them past the foyer and right to the interview rooms. “You’ve got number two, Stiles. Mr. Whittemore will be with you as soon as he’s done talking to Derek Hale.” 

Isaac pressed a little closer to Stiles. “I can stay, right?” 

“I don’t have a problem with that,” Stiles said hastily, putting on his most innocent face. 

Keene dithered a little but ultimately left the decision up to Mr. Whittemore. “But only because you’re not under arrest, kid. Jesus, stop with the Bambi eyes already! You too, Isaac. Gah.” 

He left them all in interview two and went to stand guard outside but they only had to wait for around ten minutes until Mr. Whittemore and Derek joined them. 

“Just sit there and observe,” Whittemore said to Derek and Isaac. “Peter, I trust that you know not to influence Stiles while I question him?” 

“I’d never,” Peter said and went to sit by Derek. 

“Hello, Stiles,” Whittemore finally greeted. “We haven’t seen each other in a while. I’m glad that you and Jackson haven’t been at each other's throats for some time now … and I don’t mind admitting that I’m a bit horrified. Your injury looks nasty.” 

“Feels nasty, too, but Jackson’s been okay lately,” Stiles replied, surprising himself with how sincerely he meant it. 

“That’s good to know. Now, let’s begin …” 

The questioning took a good while - much longer than Stiles had thought it would take. Jackson’s dad not only asked about Saturday night, but about all the instances Stiles had felt threatened, or actually been threatened, by Scott and the Argents. It went on for so long that Derek and Isaac ran out to get lunch for all of them, accompanied by yet another deputy. 

After lunch, Mr. Whittemore invited Deputy Tara Graeme to conduct her own official interview, which went on until mid-afternoon even with Mr. Whittemore’s direction. And through it all, the werewolves took turns touching Stiles under the guise of comforting him to take his pain. 

“I’m surprised that you managed to keep up your grades during all that,” Whittemore concluded when both Stiles and Isaac finally couldn’t think of any more instances of stalking and harassment. “Some stalking victims don’t fare nearly as well, which I’ll definitely impress upon the judge. McCall not only hurt you physically, he could’ve also cost you your college placements and therefore materially harmed your future.” 

“I hadn’t even thought about that,” Stiles admitted. “Wow.” 

“People rarely do when they think about stalking. Most only see the immediate harmful aspect,” Whittemore said and Deputy Graeme nodded her agreement. “I don’t believe the McCall boy actually thought that far, although I’ll question him extensively about the supposed gaslighting he claims to have suffered at the Argents’ hands. They might have explained themselves, after all.” 

“I really hope they did - and they probably would’ve had to because Scott can be slow - but no matter the outcome, I’m done protecting him,” Stiles told the man bluntly. “It’s one thing to defend him against dumb kids stealing his inhalers-” Here Mr. Whittemore had the grace to look uncomfortable, “-but I’m not a pushover. I won’t let Scott get away with what he did. I’ll testify myself if I have to, and if I should suddenly spout nonsense about forgiving him, you have my permission to check me for brain damage or drugs or whatever.” 

Isaac muttered, “You better believe we will.” 

“Just what I wanted to hear,” Whittemore said with a nod, flipping to an empty page of his writing pad. “Peter, you’re next. Let’s get this over with so I can throw the book at the McCall kid. Deputy Graeme, thank you for your patience. Mr. Hale and I shouldn’t be too long.” 

“As long as we’ll get the statement today, I’ll be happy,” she replied. “Just send Keene when you’re done.” 

Tired as he was, Stiles didn’t protest Peter directing Derek to take them back to the Stilinski house and lay low until he could join them. In fact, Stiles was glad about some time apart because he needed to think, and it was hard to do that with Peter around. 

“The side entrance is still your best bet if you don’t want your poor little face plastered all over the news, Stiles,” Tara said, already guiding them to the heavy steel door. 

They had almost reached it when it opened from the outside. Suddenly, Stiles was confronted with Melissa McCall, who was dressed in scrubs with just a jacket thrown on top, her hair a mess and her eyes red-rimmed. 

“Oh god,” Stiles muttered as they stared at each other. 

Melissa was rigid for a second, but then she rushed towards Stiles, hugged him tightly before either Derek or Isaac could react, and then cupped his face with her warm hands. 

“Oh Stiles, I’m so _sorry_ ,” she sobbed. “I’ll tan my son’s hide!” 

**End of chapter 26**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ETA: Thanks for your comments re: jugal vs. zygomatic bone. It's always nice to learn something new! :)


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No story-relevant note today, just a reminder to please be safe. Wear masks when out in public, wash your hands, and stay at a safe distance from each other. It sucks, but seeing the rising cases of COVID-19 all over the world sucks even more. *hugs* 
> 
> Also, thank you so much for all of your lovely comments and continuing support!

**Chapter 27**

  
  


It was like Melissa McCall’s tearful acceptance of Scott’s guilt had broken the dam that contained Stiles’ ability to soldier through. She did extract a promise of meeting soon when Stiles was feeling better, but other than that she made no demands whatsoever. Even Isaac was impressed by the sheer ‘mom-ness’ of her, and Peter offered a very cordial greeting that had Stiles wondering for a moment whether there couldn’t have been something more between them after all. 

Neither Peter nor Melissa lingered, however, and Stiles found himself shutting down fast, now that he’d done all that was required of him. 

oOo

On Monday, all the teen did was sleeping, occasionally eating a bite, and mindlessly watching TV. He felt oddly detached from the world, almost like a ghost floating around his house that was able to touch things if it really needed to, but for the most part being indifferent to it all. 

Derek, who apparently had been elected to mind him, was very hands-off and unobtrusive, largely leaving Stiles to his own devices and only seeking contact when Stiles needed help to manage the pain in his face and bruised body. This, unfortunately was quite often, because who knew that being thrown into a steel construction via electrical discharge could make muscles seize up like that? And who knew that it actually took two days for the damage to fully present itself? 

Stiles certainly hadn’t known, but he wouldn’t ever forget this lesson! 

Another thing he hadn’t factored in were the nightmares, although he definitely should have. He certainly wasn’t a stranger to them after his mother’s death. 

Again Derek didn’t say a word when Stiles screamed himself awake not even two hours after falling asleep that night. He just parked himself in Stiles’ bed to provide a comforting presence, pulled the boy against his chest like a toy, and huff-growled at him to go back to sleep. 

Which Stiles did, and the nightmares thankfully stayed away. 

oOo 

On Tuesday, Isaac came for a visit after school. He had some notes for Stiles and all the gossip the students of Beacon High were capable of. Stiles acknowledged this, but elected not to say a lot about the whole thing. Isaac was just fine with that; once he was done trying to amuse Stiles with the outlandish stories, he first did his homework and then spent two hours after dinner to draw new pages for his comic. It was coming along nicely and Stiles shamelessly watched as the planned protagonists bloomed into real characters on page. 

Through it all his phone remained switched off, courtesy of Derek’s inability to deal with teenage bullshit. 

Stiles really, truly, didn’t mind. 

oOo

On Wednesday, Peter took over the babysitting duty, bringing Stiles food and coffee and leeching off the pain whenever he crossed Stiles’ path. By now Stiles was awake and aware enough to feel mildly annoyed at the babysitting, but it was still a far cry from his usual energetic state. He was also beyond cranky about the stiffness and soreness everywhere. 

When he complained about the stupid foggy feeling in his head and the heaviness in his limbs, _again_ , Peter invited him to huff against his shoulder as he held him in a loose one-armed half-cuddle on the couch and said, “It’s absolutely normal to feel listless after suffering a severe trauma. I needed six _years_ to get out of my funk; I’d say you’re doing quite well, all things considered.” 

“Feels like wasting time,” Stiles mumbled mulishly. “I hate not being quick in my head. A sloth is more lively than me right now. Heck, even _zombies_ are more lively, and they aren’t even real. Probably. Hopefully.” 

“True,” Peter agreed with a smirk, taking Stiles’ weak fist to the side as his due. “However, you’re regaining your strength, every day a little more. Your progress is very good.” 

“How can you even say that with a straight face,” Stiles grumbled. “ _You_ heal in like no time at all.” 

Peter hummed quietly. “That doesn’t mean I’m not grateful for the hard work my body does every day. It’d be an insult to treat it carelessly after everything it’s been through.” 

Stiles swallowed and lowered his eyes in shame. Put like that, he was being a complete asshole to his body. “I just hate being this useless, especially now when the Argents are probably planning two dozen different ways to off you before they have to appear in court.” 

“Who doesn’t hate feeling useless? The point I’m trying to make is that humans have an astounding capability for healing. It might not be as pronounced as a werewolf’s, but it’s there. Every second of every day, your cells work very hard to support your growth and health. All your body asks is a little time, and the appropriate building blocks in the form of proper food,” Peter said quietly. “So, give your body the time it needs. Your physical wounds will heal eventually, but those are not the only parts of you needing care. Your mind needs time to sort itself out as well. Feeling tired and depressed is your body’s way of working through the problems. There’s no way around it, all you can do is get through it without hating yourself for it.” 

“Someone’s been reading Cosmo,” Stiles quipped, but it was half-hearted at best. 

“Cosmo does have the occasional nugget of wisdom,” Peter snarked back. He pulled Stiles a little closer and curled his hand around the teen’s upper arm to take the throbbing pain that was slowly creeping in. “You were born human, Stiles. Allow yourself to _be_ human because it is not a shame to be one in a pack of wolves.” 

Stiles sighed. “But you always have to watch yourselves around me. That must be annoying.” 

“It really isn’t,” Peter told him. “A healthy pack is like a mirror of the world around us. Emissaries are typically human, and human spouses or kids might be the minority, but they’re by no means rare. If a pack is lucky, there might even be supernatural members who’re not wolf. Plus, we even had pets, before the fire. All very normal, in the grand scheme of things.” 

“Huh. How lucky would a pack have to be to snag a non-wolf?” Stiles asked, drowsy but curious. 

“Well, most other supernaturals do not form large family units or packs,” Peter explained patiently, “but every now and then someone not wolf does feel attracted to a werewolf pack. They have their own reasons, and those reasons can vary wildly. They might find a mate among us, or just like the feel of the community combined with their innate magic, or they might make a very rational decision to join a pack for protection. Sometimes they even live a mostly human life and just happen to land on pack land and reach an agreement with the local alpha.” 

“Did you have extras?” 

“ _You’re_ extra.” Peter chuckled, but he sounded wistful. “No, we weren’t so fortunate. There was a banshee, once, but she moved on after a while and since then no other supernatural had an interest in settling down with us. And now it’s just Derek, Isaac, and I holding down the fort.” 

“We don’t need supernaturals, but a couple of girls woul’ be nice, dude,” Stiles murmured, dropping off completely now. “Don’ wanna be a club o’ grumpy white guys.” 

Peter’s laughter jostled Stiles faintly. “Agreed. We’ll keep our eyes open.” 

“ _Only_ the eyes.” Stiles sighed deeply. “Creeping is verboten.” 

Then he was asleep and didn’t wake until the doorbell rang in the evening. 

oOo

“You look like shit, Stilinski,” Jackson said bluntly. He sat on the couch across from Stiles like he owned the place but spared Peter a wary glance at least. “Is it true what the news say? Did McCall really help kidnap your father?” 

“Yeah,” Stiles muttered, rubbing his upper arms against the sudden chill crawling over them. 

“He’s a fucking moron,” Jackson stated. “Which you’d have known if you’d listened to me, years ago.” 

Stiles found the energy to muster a scowl. “His shittiness only started when he got turned. Before that, he was a good friend.” 

“He was a loser who allied himself to another loser so he wouldn’t get completely trounced.” Jackson opened his backpack and pulled out a bottle of nonalcoholic cider. “Here, to lessen the amount of pathetic I can feel from here.” 

Peter intercepted the bottle, twisted off the lid with ease, and handed it to Stiles. “Did your father send you, Jackson?”

“He didn’t have to. The whole school is going crazy over the Stilinski-McCall drama,” Jackson scoffed. “I’m fed up with the wild speculation so I thought I’d get the truth right from the source.” 

“Not gonna happen,” Stiles muttered even as he took a sip of the cider. “My dad would kill me.” 

“My dad would, too, if things about the case got out,” Jackson replied. He offered a bottle to Peter and finally got a third bottle out of his backpack and opened it. “But I’m not planning on spreading _gossip_. I just wanna understand what happened because even I didn’t think McCall had it in him to beat you like this.” 

Peter cocked his head and raised an eyebrow at Stiles. “I’d say it’s your call. You did say that he knew _something_.” 

“Does his dad?” Stiles countered. 

“I’m still contemplating the merits,” Peter said easily. He turned his intense gaze on Jackson who shrank back into the couch. “It all boils down to your answer to my question whether you’ll really be a good boy and keep things to yourself, or whether you merely want to satisfy your curiosity and then use the information to make Stiles’ life difficult, Jackson.” 

Jackson’s eyes flitted to Stiles. “Oh god, it’s him, isn’t it? He’s the one that ...” 

“Yeah,” Stiles said when the other boy trailed off. It brought him no pleasure to see Jackson pale and stiffen with anger. “If it helps, he’s sorry. Also, it’s a very long story and I don’t think we’ve got the time for it now.” 

“I want to hear it,” Jackson snapped. “And I think Lydia needs to hear it, too.” 

“ _Lydia_ ,” Peter growled. 

“Jackson’s right,” Stiles told him, already tired again. “Especially since she neither turned, nor died. Plus, they’re not the only ones who want answers.” 

Peter drew in a controlled breath. “Fine. I need them to swear to keep silent about it. And it won’t happen as long as you’re housebound.” 

“I can wait, as long as it isn’t too long,” Jackson said with far more bravado than he was actually feeling. Even Stiles could see how afraid he was of Peter by the sweat on his brow and the tension in his shoulders. “I won’t tell Lydia yet because she’s still … delicate, so you’d better make it good. She’ll still be angry, but she probably won’t kill you for it.” 

Peter’s eyes bled red and Jackson actually jerked back in shock. “I’m willing to inform you because it is important to Stiles. I’m _not_ willing to endure disrespect from high schoolers who don’t know the first thing about anything. Are we understood?” 

Swallowing and unable to look away, Jackson managed a jerky nod. 

Peter’s cold face mellowed and he smiled affably. “Good. Are you staying for dinner?” 

“He’s staying,” Stiles said, smirking at Jackson’s betrayed glare. “Thanks, Peter.” 

“Anything for you,” Peter replied easily, brushing his hand across Stiles’ neck before sauntering out of the living room to start cooking. 

“What the fuck?!” Jackson whispered incredulously. “What the _actual_ fuck, Stiles!” 

“Long story,” Stiles reminded him with a shrug. “In case you’re wondering, or, you know, actually worrying, my dad knows.” 

Jackson’s bitch face was epic. “And he just lets you hang out with a monster? Is he crazy?” 

“He doesn’t exactly like it,” Stiles admitted, “but he’s sort of okay with it for now because of the Argents and stuff.” 

Disbelieving, Jackson craned his neck like he could actually see Peter in the kitchen that way. “I lied. I absolutely want to hear that story right now.” 

Stiles snorted. “Of course you do.” 

Proving that he wasn’t actually an idiot, Jackson changed the topic and instead regaled Stiles with the latest of Finstock’s crazy rants. Apparently lacrosse was quite a bit less entertaining without the coach shouting at Stiles, although Scott’s arrest had finally given Finstock a new scapegoat to vent his spleen on. 

“I swear to god, he yelled at Greenberg to not be as stupid as McCall and swore that he’d make him run suicides until he puked and keeled over if he didn’t get his act together,” Jackson said, smirking at Stiles’ helpless laughter. 

“Too late, he’s gonna be held back _again_ ,” Stiles wheezed. “Coach will flip.” 

“Well, Greenberg’s firmly legal by now,” Jackson went on. “Wanna buy into the pot?” 

“That thing’s still around?” Stiles asked, aghast. “I thought that was dissolved after Finstock’s last Greenberg-related coronary.” 

“Nope, still around”, Jackson said smugly. “Only difference is that I invite you in now.” 

“In that case put me in the ‘hell no, not ever gonna happen’ column. Twenty okay?” 

Jackson accepted the money and handed Stiles his deposit receipt. “You win if Finstock gets a restraining order.” 

“ _I_ win?” Stiles’ grin grew. “No one else bet on never? Wait, so you bet on Finstock caving eventually, too! Oh my god, you’re such a fucking closet romantic.” 

Shrugging, Jackson said, “Finstock’s last ex was a psycho, too. It stands to reason that Greenberg has a chance. Granted, the him being a guy thing is an obstacle, but the coach has a soft spot for losers. Point in case ...” And he pointed right at Stiles, the fucker. 

“Gee, thanks,” Stiles snarked and slapped Jackson's hand away, only to wince when his ribs protested. “Ow.” 

“Come on, McCall can’t have beat you up _that_ badly,” Jackson snorted. 

“Wasn’t just Scott,” Stiles said with a grimace. “Circumstance played a big part.” 

Peter suddenly appeared next to him and placed his hand on his neck, black lines immediately snaking up his forearm. “Maybe you should refrain from making him laugh too much, Jackson. His ribs are a little tender.” 

“What are you doing? What is that?” Jackson demanded. 

Stiles waved him off as he relaxed into the couch cushions. “He’s doing a reeeaaally nice pain drain thingy. Saves me from having to take the icky pills.” 

Jackson didn’t seem in any way placated, but he chose not to comment, what with Peter grinning toothily at him. 

“Dinner will be ready in half an hour,” Peter said a moment later, taking his hand away again. “And by the way, your father texted me, he’ll join us.” 

“Really?” Stiles fought his way back to a straight sitting position. “How come? He’s on late shift this week.” 

“There’s been a development with The Failure and he wanted to tell you personally.” 

“The Failure?” Jackson queried. “You mean McCall?” At Peter’s intense not-smile, Jackson brightened and he lost quite a bit of his wariness - like hating Scott put them firmly on common ground. “I should’ve come up with that one.” 

“Is it something horrible?” Stiles asked. “As in, do I even want to know?” 

“Yes,” Peter replied without hesitation. “Thirty minutes, and I expect you to set the table.” 

“Good to know that you’re not completely slacking off, Stilinski,” Jackson smirked. 

“I meant you,” Peter corrected and showed a hint of fang when Jackson’s jaw dropped. “You wouldn’t want Stiles to overextend himself, would you?” 

Jackson’s mouth snapped shut and he narrowed his eyes. “No, sir.” 

“I knew you were a good sort,” Peter praised mockingly. 

He sauntered off again and Jackson’s calculating gaze immediately settled back on Stiles. 

“What magic have you done to have someone like him in your corner?” the teen demanded. “Was it a satanic ritual? Or a dance in a dark fairy circle?” 

Stiles huffed. “What do you take me for. I’m not dumb enough to summon a _demon_ , what the hell.” 

They bickered about it for a while, their trash talk seamlessly moving on to Mr. Harris, who _everyone_ agreed had to have crawled out of hell, from there to the hell that their last year of high school would be. It was a small surprise to learn that Jackson was considering going to Great Britain for college, instead of cashing in on his parents’ connections and the many scholarships available for athletes who were also decent students. 

“And you?” Jackson prodded. “What’s your plan? Please don’t tell me you wanna stay in Beacon Hills and work with your dad, because that’d be just sad.” 

Squirming a little, Stiles mumbled, “I’m gonna graduate early and take some time figuring things out.” 

“So, not law enforcement? That’s a surprise.” Jackson took the last sip from his bottle and placed it onto the coffee table. “What then?” 

“That’s where the figuring things out phase comes in,” Stiles said and rolled his eyes. “Well, I guess I already know that I won’t go into law, or become an engineer or whatever, but that’s about it.” 

“I haven’t given it much thought, but I can’t really see you in a normal job,” Jackson smirked. “Can you imagine yourself as a handyman, or in retail? I guess law enforcement _could_ work, though probably not as a sheriff. No one would take you seriously.” 

“Shut it.” Stiles threw a pillow at Jackson. “I’ve got lots of time yet, asshole.” 

Before they could begin another squabble, Peter returned, ordered them to wash their paws, and then commandeered Jackson to set the table to his satisfaction. They were just finished when the sheriff came home - and Stiles would never not be amazed at his dad’s ability to take surprising events in stride because after a tiny pause the sheriff greeted Jackson like it wasn’t supremely strange to have his son’s high school nemesis in his house for dinner. 

With that out of the way, they then spent ten minutes just appreciating the creamy stir fry and colourful salad Peter had put together. Everybody clamoured for seconds, even Jackson, and when it was time for coffee and dessert, the mood had mellowed quite a bit. 

“Now that we’ve covered all the small talk, can you _please_ tell me what’s going on?” Stiles asked his father. “What’s up with Scott?” 

“He’s been asking for you these last few days,” John said, voice measured, “and he had an asthma attack this afternoon. The first in many months, I was told. Melissa was beside herself with worry. It wasn’t bad enough to take him to the hospital, but the next one might be.” 

Stiles felt crushed and he clenched his hands to fists without realizing it. 

“That’s not normal, is it?” Jackson asked into the heavy silence. He looked from Stiles to the sheriff to Peter. “He was juiced up and I was under the impression that it was permanent.” 

The sheriff glanced at Peter to gauge his reaction to having Jackson in the loop but settled again when the werewolf didn't even twitch.

“He isn’t, anymore,” Stiles croaked. “Wow. I guess that’s the final piece of evidence that it worked, huh?” 

“It’s a good thing,” Peter said calmly. “He wanted it, he got his wish granted, now he can get on with his life without bothering us anymore. If he doesn’t like the consequences, that’s his problem.” 

Jackson scoffed at that. “I have no idea what went down, but I do know that McCall’s probably regretting that right now. Like, a lot. What is he, a complete idiot?” 

“You already decided he was a moron,” Stiles reminded him. 

“He shouldn’t pose any danger as he is now,” Peter interjected, “unless he’s begun spouting secrets?” 

“So far he hasn’t,” Stiles father said. He drained his coffee cup and sat back with a weary sigh. “Although I’m not sure how long that’ll last. I really need to get together with Melissa and tell her what’s been going on before Scott can feed her choice bits of information.” 

“Why not make it a party?” Peter drawled. “Apparently Jackson and _Lydia_ are keen on being informed. What’s one more guest attending the presentation?” 

The sheriff turned to Stiles. “Would you do that for Melissa? You’re good at explaining things, and she’d definitely believe you since you’ve been with Scott a lot of the time since all of this started.” 

“Sure, pops. I’ll do a Powerpoint presentation and bring out the murder board and everything. Derek can provide visual proof.” 

“Maybe don’t call it a murder board,” his father sighed. “Even if far too many people have died.” 

“That begs the question whether we actually have to tell her _everything_ ,” Peter said pointedly. “I don’t doubt Melissa’s good heart, but certain things might be too much.” 

Stiles and his father exchanged a long look. 

“It’s not necessary,” the sheriff decided. “Especially since she might feel compelled to use the information to help Scott. He’s still her son, even if she wishes she could send him to Mars for a while.” 

“Thank you, dad,” Stiles said quietly. 

“Yes, thank you,” Peter echoed. 

Jackson looked like waiting for the whole story would actually kill him, and this once Stiles couldn’t even fault him for his curiosity. A glance at Peter’s pleased, smug smile also told him that chumming Jackson hadn’t been done inadvertently. 

Not by a long shot. 

  
  


**End of chapter 27**


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter 28**

That night, nothing could keep the nightmares away. Peter, who had chosen to lurk in the house with the sheriff’s reluctant agreement, simply came in after Stiles’ abrupt and tearful waking, occupying the empty half of Stiles’ bed like it was nothing out of the ordinary. As if knowing perfectly well what Stiles needed just then, he was present, but kept his distance. 

“Why are you doing this to yourself,” Stiles whispered, roughly scrubbing his wet cheeks. 

“I don’t mind keeping vigil,” Peter answered, opening the book he’d brought. “Unless you want me to leave. Then I’ll leave. Or I could call Derek.” 

Stiles rolled onto his back, leaning into Peter’s hand when it carefully settled on his head, fingers just touching his scalp to drain some of the persistent pain. “No, let him sleep. He must be exhausted.” 

“He could do with some rest,” Peter allowed. “But he’d keep you company if that’s what you need.” 

“He’s oddly caring.” Stiles exhaled in relief, wet lashes lowering a little without his say-so. “Will you accept him in your pack?” 

“Do you want him in the pack?” Peter countered. The tips of his fingers began to gently card through Stiles’ hair. 

Without meaning to, Stiles hummed quietly. “He’s your family. And he’s good with Isaac. And I sort of like his grumpy face.” 

“Everybody likes his grumpy face,” Peter said idly. “That’s in large part his problem.” 

Stiles spent a productive moment hating Kate Argent fiercely before muttering, “Yeah, it probably is.” 

Peter continued, “Derek might not wish to join, no matter how involved he is at the moment. I’ve decided that I won’t force the issue.” 

“That’s good. Although … you’re not gonna chase him away if he doesn’t want it, right?” Stiles asked, looking up into Peter’s face with some difficulty. “He needs to heal, too. With us, he’ll at least have friends and some family to help.” 

“So you’re friends now?” Peter asked. 

“Dude.” Stiles made a face. “We spent an evening trying to revive your sorry ass; you bet we’re friends now. Even if he doesn’t like me much, I’ve got his back.” 

Peter smiled softly, looking almost peaceful for the first time since Stiles had known him. “I think he likes you well enough, Stiles.” 

“Enough not to rip out my throat with his teeth?” Stiles bared his teeth and made a pitiful growling noise. “Cause let me tell you, some people find that difficult.” 

Chuckling, Peter took his hand away. “That’s for you to find out.” 

Stiles basked a little in the quiet companionship before asking, “Hey, what’re you reading?” 

“An old treatise about healing magic,” Peter said, turning a page. “It’s in Latin, unfortunately, and I haven’t come across anything helpful yet.” 

“Healing magic?” Stiles’ eyes popped back open. “Wha … why are you keeping this to yourself?!” 

Peter’s hand effortlessly held Stiles down when he tried to flop around and sit up. “Because you needed peace and quiet more than anything else, young padawan.” 

“Let me see,” Stiles demanded, making grabby hands. 

“Do you even speak Latin?” Peter asked, exasperated. 

“Very badly, but I don’t care. Gimme!” 

“Hands off, whelp,” Peter said, pressing Stiles down firmly enough to make it stick, this time. “I might be persuaded to read to you, but only if you’ll keep your grubby paws to yourself.” 

“Fine,” Stiles huffed. “But go slowly. ‘m tired and Latin sucks.” 

Peter heaved an aggrieved sigh but acquiesced. His hand returned to Stiles’ hair, the light caresses quickly helping Stiles’ breath to slow down and deepen. When he began to read, the words were spoken quietly but clearly. 

Stiles understood maybe one word in five, but the cadence of Peter’s speech was soothing and after a while the aural impression of the words changed from meaningless blankness to a soft green, like evening sunshine pouring through a veil of fresh linden tree leaves. It was clean and pure and warm and without quite knowing when Stiles slipped back to sleep. 

oOo 

On Thursday morning, Stiles and his father got an unexpected visitor. 

“Melissa,” John greeted, stepping aside to let her in. 

In the kitchen, Stiles rose from his chair to pour her a cup of coffee and put one of Peter’s divine pancakes in the toaster for some warming up. 

“Thank you, Stiles. You’re looking a little better, thank god,” Melissa murmured. She stroked his uninjured cheek with her warm, competent hand and smiled weakly. “Sorry to barge in like this. I just …” She broke off, her breath hitching. “I just need someone to not judge me for a minute.” 

“Hey, yeah, no judging of you here,” Stiles assured her, gently leading her to a chair and sitting her down. “Drink some coffee, have a pancake. Our kitchen is Switzerland.” 

Melissa’s eyes misted over but her smile eased a little. “Thank you, Stiles. You’re a sweetheart.” 

“He has his moments,” John said, patting her on the shoulder as he ambled to the coffee machine to top off his own cup. “He’s right. We’re not judging you for what Scott did, and you’re always welcome here if you need a breather.” The toaster popped out the now warm and slightly crispy pancake. “Here, in case you’re hungry. They’re good and filling.” 

Taking another shuddery breath, Melissa tried a small bite. “You’re right, wow. This is delicious! Normally, I’d scarf this down in an instant, but my stomach’s been in knots lately.” 

“I’m sorry that this is so hard on you,” Stiles told her, dragging his chair right next to hers and leaning against her small shoulder. “How can we help?” 

“Well,” she exhaled noisily, which was never a good sign. “Scott’s father is of the opinion that there’s no need to ruin his son’s future by making him do time over a squabble between teenage boys.” 

“You’ll excuse me if I have a different opinion,” John murmured. 

Melissa pressed her lips together. “Rafe is an idiot if he thinks that getting Scott out of this sort of trouble would do him any good. It’s killing me that Scott’s been so utterly stupid, but I’ve seen enough victims of violence to know that letting him get off lightly won’t do anyone any good.” She turned to Stiles. “You deserve better, and I’ll make sure Scott understands that he did something seriously wrong.” 

_Not to mention that Peter would probably kill Scott if he gets off too lightly_ , Stiles thought. He couldn’t even feel properly horrified about that after the week he’d had. In fact, it was kind of nice to know that someone was prepared to ensure that Scott wouldn’t be able to hurt him again if push came to shove. 

“But he’s still my son and I feel like I have to protect him,” Melissa continued miserably. “It’s so stupid and believe me, if I could, I’d send him to Antarctica for a decade right now.” 

“Well, a court-ordered restraining order is already in the works,” Stiles’ father said quietly. “No matter the outcome of that trial, Scott won’t be allowed to come near us again. The judge is still considering the time limit, but that - and the fact that Scott is in investigative custody - is the only reason it hasn’t been issued yet.” 

“I don’t understand where I went wrong,” she whispered. “Was I too strict? Or too soft?” 

“Forgive me for being blunt, but Scott’s just a moron,” Stiles told her, still rubbing her shoulder. He exchanged a look with his father, who gave a nod. “Er, if you can wait a little longer, I’ll explain everything that’s been going on.” 

“Wha … John? You know what’s up?” Melissa turned to the sheriff, who nodded again. “Why won’t you tell me right now?” 

“Because you’re upset, because Stiles needs to heal up some more before I’ll allow him to upset himself, and because he needs time to prepare his presentation,” John replied evenly. “I _promise_ that the whole clusterfuck needs a presentation, otherwise I’d have told you earlier.” 

“Oh,” Melissa said, curling her shaking hands around her coffee cup. “That bad, huh?” 

“No spoilers,” Stiles joked. Since his neck muscles had stopped aching overnight, he carefully put his head against her shoulder and sighed quietly. “Need to get a cuddle in before we tell you, though.” 

“Oh, baby.” She pressed a kiss to Stiles’ bed hair. “Whatever it is, we’ll get through it.” 

Stiles could only hope that this was true. 

oOo

For the rest of the week, Peter was busy with Jackson’s father, which meant that Derek was a steady presence in the Stilinski household. Stiles, who was feeling so much better now, found many uses for the werewolf: as a sounding board for his homework and his fledgeling college application letter, as cheap help in the kitchen, and of course as a painkiller, both physical and mental. 

Fact was that Derek gave _fantastic_ hugs at the slightest provocation, and he hugged like he didn’t have anything better to do with his time. 

Even better, Derek had no issue whatsoever with letting Stiles scan Peter’s book on healing magic, and when that was finished, letting him read it and mumble the words to his heart’s content. 

“Hey Derek,” Stiles called after another bout of mangled reading. “How’re you feeling?” 

Derek glanced up from the pot of Bologna sauce he was minding. “Fine.” He was just about to turn back when he suddenly paused and _stared_. “How are _you_ feeling?” 

“Okay-ish.” Stiles grinned. “Why? Are you tired of my face already?” 

Derek wordlessly grabbed the as yet unused pasta pot from the stove and held it in front of Stiles’ visage. “Look.” 

Humouring him, Stiles took his eyes from Derek’s intense frown and onto the polished steel surface of the pot. After a minute of staring, he stuttered out, “Uh, okay.” 

“Yes.” Derek put the pot down and sat on the chair next to Stiles. He was still staring. Very carefully, he traced Stiles’ injured cheek with his fingers. “You feel that?” 

“It … it doesn’t hurt … not as much.” Stiles grabbed the pot and stared at his distorted reflection again. “ _How_? It looks so much better.” 

“Your magic,” Derek said shortly. “Nothing else makes sense.” 

“But I was reading the spells for _you_ ,” Stiles protested. “I wasn’t gonna experiment on myself when I’ve got doctor’s appointments for the next four weeks or so. Shit.” 

“Apparently your magic just heals, no matter who you want it to heal,” Derek replied, his frown easing a little. “Why did you even want to heal me? Whatever I broke on Saturday has already mended.” 

“Okay, but who knows what’s been lurking around inside,” Stiles defended himself. “Just because you’re not keeling over doesn’t mean you don’t need support.” 

Derek’s eyebrow rose. 

“And I might’ve thought that, if I _did_ something wrong, you wouldn’t die painfully,” Stiles huffed. “I probably shouldn’t have, not without asking, but it didn’t feel wrong or anything. It didn’t even feel like anything, if I’m being honest. And now _this_.” He gesticulated angrily at his suddenly far less bruised cheek. 

Derek caught his hand and held it firmly in both of his. “It’s alright. You getting better is more important that letting Scott get what’s coming to him.” 

“I could hurt our case. You know how lawyers are always jumping on the victims. Whoever’s representing Scott will probably say that I’m healing just fine, it wasn’t as big a deal as everyone initially thought, why, let’s just give Scott a slap on the wrist and life can go on.” 

“You’d better talk about that with Peter and Mr. Whittemore,” Derek said, rubbing soothing circles with his thumbs on the back of Stiles’ hand. “They can tell you what to do.” 

“Peter will probably be angry,” Stiles mumbled. “I sure am angry at myself.” 

“That’s just stupid.” Derek stood and bopped Stiles on the head. “It’s obvious that you’re drawn to the book. Your magic _wants_ you to get better. That’s natural for you, now.” 

“Just effing inconvenient,” Stiles sighed. 

“Maybe,” Derek admitted. “I just hope you’ll never hate yourself for doing what your new instincts are telling you. Especially if it’s something good like healing.” 

Thoughtful, Stiles watched as the other man went back to the stove to poke some more at the pasta sauce. Derek really was very good at offering comfort and taking care of others. 

_No way am I allowing Peter to let him get away_ , he thought, putting his head into his hand and just looking. 

The silence between them wasn’t strained at all and Stiles felt his mind enough at rest to just enjoy the fact that the bruised side of his face was hardly hurting anymore. Despite it only having been five full days, he’d already forgotten what that had been like. 

oOo

On Friday morning, Stiles’ father shoved the newspaper over the kitchen table, face grim. 

“They just can’t give it a rest,” he scowled. “Sometimes living in a small town is a curse.” 

Stiles skimmed over the offending article, filing away the name of the reporter dragging him through the mud for later use. “Not a bad attempt at maligning our characters, although drugs are a bit lame, considering the things Beacon Hills’ youth is getting up to. I must say that insinuating that Peter has an unhealthy interest in teenaged students was especially inspired, though.” 

“He does have an unhealthy interest in teenagers,” his father growled. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten that.” 

“Our bromance is chaste,” Stiles smirked, causing his old man to spew his coffee. “I’m sure Mr. Whittemore will have a lot of fun suing the newspaper for defamation of character. He looks like the type who just loves juggling several lawsuits at once.” 

“Christ, kid, have some mercy,” the sheriff spluttered. He mopped up the mess on his shirt and the table with a wad of kitchen roll Stiles handed him. “Hale’s attentions to you really had better be chaste or I’ll go medieval on his ass.” 

“What?” Stiles couldn’t help but laugh at him. “You are aware that medieval people married off their kids at thirteen and stuff, right? Or are you saying you wanna see me get married real young? I didn’t know you were so desperate for grandkids.” 

“Ugh, _no_. Don’t you dare!” John leaned back in defeat and rubbed a hand over his face. “Let’s drop this unfortunate topic and just agree that you’re too young and Hale completely inappropriate.” 

“Well, he’s hot,” Stiles mused, grinning wickedly at the pinched look on his dad’s face. “And he’s only, like, thirty or so. Hardly a pervy methusalem. Give me another year and we’re golden.” 

“Good lord, stop it,” the sheriff groaned. “I don’t want to hear this!” 

“You sort of asked,” Stiles cackled. “So, are we gonna sue, too? I mean, our friend Gino definitely wrote that I was involved with drugs. Sucks when the editor snoozes and forgets to fill in the circumspect language.” He paused to think. “Or maybe the editor hates Gino, which I could totally get behind. In that case I’m all for sending them flowers. Maybe a gift basket.” 

“You bet we will, to both of it,” his father said, rallying again. “ _After_ your visit to the hospital. I’m looking forward to your explanation to your quick healing.” 

And just like that, Stiles’ good mood at his dad’s expense dimmed considerably. 

oOo

Dr. Lee was astounded at the progress of Stiles’ healing. Only the sheriff’s quiet clearing of the throat prevented a full inquisition, but it was clear that he’d be looking at the new images Dr. Smith in the radiology would be taking as soon as they were available. 

“Incredible,” Dr. Lee muttered when the examination was over. “No muscle aches at all? No lingering pain from when I put pressure on the bruise?” 

“It feels a little achy,” Stiles told him. “It’s just … better.” 

“I don’t want to make you feel like a lab rat, but it’s sort of hard to comprehend that the colour of that bruise has gotten so much better in such a short amount of time,” Dr. Lee explained. “There are fast healers, of course, but looking at your patient file, that’s not been the case for you.” 

“No matter how nicely you ask, no, my _minor_ son won’t let you draw blood to satisfy your curiosity,” the sheriff said mildly. “Do I have to have that added to the file in writing, or will you and your colleagues be able to adhere to our wishes without that?” 

Dr. Lee regarded him for a long moment, and then Stiles. “Send it to the administration via certified mail, that way no one can claim not to have seen it. I’ll also pin it at the top of Stiles’ file.” 

“Wow, Doc, creepy much?” Stiles asked, shocked, shrinking away from the man. 

“Scientists are a scary bunch,” Dr. Lee said, much calmer already after John’s very clear refusal to entertain him. “It’s never a bad idea to cover all your bases. I’d also recommend placing a copy with your lawyer.” 

“Come on, that’s conspiracy level paranoia,” Stiles exclaimed. “Isn’t it? Dad?” 

“David Whittemore will definitely have to work for his pay,” his father said with grim satisfaction. 

“David Whittemore is representing you?” Dr. Lee perked up. “That’s great news, actually. That McCall boy won’t get off easily, then.” 

“Will he be enough to protect my boy from your sort?” John asked. “Tell me straight away so I can plan our escape.” 

This made Dr. Lee laugh and it transformed his cool Asian features into something much more approachable. “It’s not as bad as that, don’t worry. But _my sort_ will ask questions and request access to your son if you don’t nip it in the bud. With college not so far off I’m sure you have better things to do than fend off annoying demands.” 

“We sure do,” Stiles said, still a little uneasy. “Also, a patient file is no place for _speculation_ , right?” 

“Of course not, and I won’t put any speculation in there either. However, even the bare facts might pique someone’s interest, and therefore it is a very good idea to prevent any and all prying. That way you can sue if someone ever decides to ignore the prohibition.” 

“Maybe just restrict the file for now,” Stiles father sighed. “Take it out of the general availability; we’ll work things out later.” 

Dr. Lee swivelled in his chair and typed something. “I’ll restrict access to myself and Dr. Smith for now. I can’t do anything for emergency care, though, and if Stiles’ _slightly_ accelerated healing factor persists, other doctors might get curious.” He finished his typing and turned back around. “In my way of thinking, you should find a trustworthy lab and get his blood run, just to find out whether there’s something in it worth finding. If not, well …” He shrugged. “If not it’d be just a curiosity.” 

“Good idea,” Stiles said. “Can we do that, dad?” 

“We’ll talk about it,” John replied. “For now we need to get through the MRI appointment without having you abducted for government experimentation.” 

“Dad!” Stiles squawked while Dr. Lee laughed loudly. 

**End of chapter 28**


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter 29**

“You’re a moron,” Isaac told Stiles on Friday night. He’d come over for another visit and had practically crowded Stiles in the hallway for scenting and a tight hug, now that Stiles’ ribs were no longer protesting. “But I’m glad you’re not smelling like misery any longer.” 

Stiles breathlessly retorted, “I’m glad, too. Still need … to … breathe, though.” 

Scoffing, Isaac let him go and stomped on to the living room, where Derek was greeting him with a loose one-armed embrace. “It sucks that your dad has to spend a few more days the hospital after being out already. Maybe you should bring Peter’s book next time and help him along a little bit.” 

“Already planned for tomorrow,” Stiles called over his shoulder, already on his way to the kitchen. “Dad just couldn't take it as slowly as he was supposed to take it. You want something to drink? Derek made lemonade.” 

Isaac flopped down on the couch and took out his drawing utensils. “Sure. What’s for dinner?” 

Since Peter had left money for the care and feeding of the two werewolves, they agreed on ordering from the Lebanese place after some haggling and spent the time waiting for the food trouncing each other at Mario Kart. 

“I suppose your house is still warded,” Derek said without inflection after the doorbell had rung around the forty minute mark. 

Nervously, Stiles crossed his arms in front of his chest. “It is. What is Chris Argent doing here? He does know that there’s a restraining order with his whole family’s name on it, doesn’t he? I mean, it’s hard to forget, what with the mention in the newspaper and TV and everything … unpleasant little scandal for Argent Enterprise, whaddaya know.” 

“Breathe, Stiles. That’s not for us to find out.” Derek thumbed over the screen of his phone and activated the loudspeaker for Stiles’ benefit. “This is Derek Hale. I’m currently at the Stilinski residence. Chris Argent has hijacked our food order and is currently standing on the front porch. I understand that he’s in clear violation of the restraining order that was issued. I can spot at least one weapon but he has likely more on his person. Could you please send a dispatch? Thank you.” 

“Stone cold,” Isaac muttered admiringly after Derek had hung up. “You think Argent will wait around for the cops to arrive? Maybe even do something stupid?” 

“Dunno, but we’ll have clear footage of his presence here,” Stiles answered. “I wonder what he wants.” He took another step back from the front door, just in case the man suddenly got trigger-happy. “I’ll call Peter, he can tell Mr. Whittemore. I’m sure my dad will hear through the sheriff station grapevine.” 

Stiles was just done relaying the incident to Peter when the sound of sirens cut through the quiet Friday night air. “I have to go, I’ll text you later with what went down.” 

“Be thorough,” Peter ordered smugly. “I plan on committing this to memory for years to come.” 

Despite his apprehension, Stiles just had to grin. “You and me both, dude. See you.” 

Unfortunately Chris Argent fled the scene before the officers could apprehend him, and to add insult to injury he flung the food he’d been holding like some sort of perverted peace offering onto the porch. 

“He’ll pay for it,” Derek consoled the boys and then opened the door to the officer that wasn’t trying to follow Argent. “Good evening.” 

“Evening. Good lord, the things that are going on in this town,” Deputy Keene sighed. He nudged the dropped bag of ruined food with his boot. “Sorry about that, though you probably wouldn’t have eaten this anyway after Argent touched it.” 

“You got a visual?” Stiles asked, peeking around Derek’s broad shoulder. 

“Sure did, kid. Due to his profession Argent is well known in law enforcement circles. Plus, you have your nifty new home security system now, so that’s all sorted, at least where it concerns us. Any idea what he could’ve wanted?” Keene inspected the wall around the door. “Didn’t shoot any bullets, at least, or leave something nasty on the porch.” 

“Aside from our food,” Isaac huffed. “I really wanted that.” 

“I’ll order more,” Derek said quietly. “And tell the restaurant to sue the Argents for threatening or bribing the employees.” 

“I’ll put in a request to get your lost food tested,” Keene offered. “I don’t think he poisoned it, but better safe than sorry, eh?” 

“Thanks,” Stiles said. “We appreciate it.” 

Keene grinned. “You’ll make it up to us sooner or later. You always do.” 

“My baking is pretty legendary by now,” Stiles explained when the others turned to look questioningly at him. “So yeah, I will.” 

“Send me the footage, and keep the bill for the food. Whittemore will make Argent pay for it,” Keene said. “Stay safe now. Forensics will be by in a few and take the food away. Nothing spilled outside the bag, that’s something at least.” 

Derek kept watch until the colleagues from forensics had come while Stiles and Isaac viewed the security feed on Stiles’ laptop and sent the clip to the sheriff station, Peter, and Mr. Whittemore for processing. 

“It’s so crazy to have this as the new normal,” Isaac admitted on the way back down to the living room. “I wouldn’t go back - even if I probably could, now - but it’s still … shocking.” 

“I know. Just thinking about how self-righteous those hunters feel about their _code_ ,” Stiles made sarcastic quotation marks with his fingers, “makes me so fucking angry. They don’t even mean it, like true zealots. They’re just lying psychos who’re looking for an excuse to hurt others.” 

“Sadistic assholes,” Isaac agreed. “Though with the way Argent is acting they’re working actively on being banned from Beacon Hills.” 

“If only that were true. My guess is he’s snapped.” Stiles steered Isaac back to the couch and flopped down right next to him. “What are we gonna do until the food arrives?” 

“Teach me more about handcuffs,” Derek said, dropping two handfuls of different padlocks and several lengths of chains onto the coffee table. “I’m still bad with the picklocks.” 

“Sure,” Stiles said easily. “You game, Isaac? Or do you wanna get back to your drawing?” 

“Nah, I’ve got enough of that for today. Show me how that works.” 

Stiles jumped into the explanations and demonstrated on the various locks how it generally worked. For each of them he needed little more than a few seconds. Isaac was in awe, and cursing himself for not having shown an interest sooner in favour of his comic project. Even Derek, slow as he was, rose even more in Isaac’s estimation with each successfully opened lock. 

When it was Isaac’s turn, Stiles took special care in explaining again how to listen and feel for the tiny indentations in the cylinders. Knowing what had happened to Isaac at his father’s hands, both were uniquely motivated. 

Finally their replacement food arrived, doubled by the restaurant owner as an apology for the botched delivery. 

“It was bribery, then,” Stiles concluded as he dished out hummus and pita bread. “But I’m pretty okay with it; we have enough dessert now to make us _all_ puke. Pass me the kafta, Derek?” 

They filled their plates and ate with gusto, and after a while they even found some humour in the situation. After all, Argent did jump several fences as he ran away, all very nicely visible on the security feed of the Stilinskis’ cameras. 

oOo

Saturday was spent at the hospital with Stiles’ father. Peter, unfortunately, had a bad day, so Isaac chose to keep him company as he puked up black goo and felt unequal to drink even water, never mind some tea or broth. Derek, however, went with Stiles and was an unobtrusive presence while Stiles first read quietly from Peter’s book for a few minutes and then just chatted with his father. They had lunch and an early dinner together and then agreed on another ‘healer’s appointment’ the following Tuesday, right after John had had his next X-ray. 

oOo

On Sunday, Stiles felt well enough to meet Erica and Boyd for lunch in the diner and it warmed Stiles’ heart how eager both of his new friends were. Boyd had even sent his own text, which was practically a declaration of his regard. 

Isaac and Derek came with to keep the outing safe from wandering Argents, and if there were a suspiciously high number of patrol cars driving past the diner, nobody commented on it. 

“Uh, wow, and who might this be?” Erica asked upon setting her eyes on Derek. “Did he flee an Abercromby photo shoot or something?” 

“That’s Derek, a friend of Isaac and me,” Stiles said easily. “He doesn’t like being objectified, so be gentle, Catwoman.” 

“I’ll do my very best.” Erica smiled shyly. “Sorry, Derek. You’re just really handsome.” 

“Thank you,” Derek muttered, relaxing his shoulders a little. “It’s good to meet you. Stiles and Isaac have talked quite a bit about you both.” 

They shook hands, and while Boyd’s face was impassive, Stiles could see the knuckles of his hand get a little more pronounced. 

Smiling smugly at this show of possessiveness, Stiles then led all of them into the diner and chose the booth farthest from the counter so they’d have some privacy. 

“It’s really good to see you,” Erica told Stiles as they settled in. “I was worried sick when I saw the news. Boyd, too, even if he didn’t say anything.” 

“I’m really sorry,” Stiles said, like they hadn’t texted about it all week already. 

“Can you tell us more now?” Erica asked. 

“Not really, although I want to, promise. It’s just that Scott’s a minor, so his case will be heard without the public present, and his criminal file will be sealed afterwards.” Stiles huffed. “The first hearing will be in two weeks or so, which means that at least it won’t be dragged out for too long.” 

“It still sucks,” Erica said. “Do you suppose McCall will be back in school next year?” 

“Honestly? I think so, yeah.” 

Derek, who was sitting next to Stiles, leaned a little closer against him, lending his silent support. “But maybe not. He shouldn’t be, in any case.” 

“No, he shouldn’t, but they’re usually lenient with kids,” Stiles sighed. “Scott wasn’t on anyone’s radar until he got involved with Allison and her family, and his lawyer will probably make a very good case for him being their victim or something.” 

Boyd frowned. “The news about what their people did with our old principal were sick.” 

“They’re still working that case, which is the only reason Allison’s parents are still out and about,” Stiles admitted. “But yeah, their shenanigans will probably put Scott’s behaviour in perspective, from their point of view.” 

“You’re not gonna go back to being friends with him, will you?” Erica half questioned and half demanded. “Because if you do …” 

“He helped kidnap my _dad_ ,” Stiles interrupted her. “I’ll never forgive him for that, even if I forgave him for nearly killing me. We’re _over_.” 

“Good,” Boyd said shortly. He raised his arm to flag a waitress down. “You got a friend like that, you don’t need enemies.” 

The waitress appeared at their table and was so instantly smitten with Derek that she got everyone’s orders wrong as she repeated them and then nearly flushed to death when Derek wrote everything down for her to put an end to her misery. 

When she was gone, Boyd eyed Derek speculatively. “Must be a curse.” 

“You have no idea,” Derek replied. 

“On the plus side, I’ll bet that the kitchen will throw in some extra fries,” Stiles said with a grin. He patted Derek’s shoulder. “Anyhoo, let’s not talk about Scott and assorted assholes; what’s new with you? What about your ROTC placement, Boyd? Didn’t you have a talk with someone this week?” 

“On Wednesday,” Boyd agreed. “It went fine, but they were a little reluctant to answer more in-depth questions.” 

Erica curled a lock of hair around her finger. “One wonders why.” 

“I told them that I’d appreciate a more honest talk next time, even at my age,” Boyd said, looking steadily at Stiles. “Everyone should have the questions you gave me at hand.” 

“You really wrote up questions for Boyd’s talk with the recruiter?” Derek asked. He looked torn between frowning and smiling reluctantly. 

“Yup. I mean, if they go around seducing the really young into entering military service, they’d better be prepared to catch some flack. It’s not like the people they’re targeting all have a stable home life or are economically secure, no offence, Boyd. Those people need someone to watch out for them.” 

Boyd merely nodded. “Their reaction was certainly eye-opening.” 

“So you’ll not join the military after high school?” Isaac asked. 

“They want me,” Boyd said with a shrug, “but I’m not so sure I want them anymore.” 

“You still have time to decide,” Derek said. “The military’s fine if that’s what you really want, but it’s always good to have more options.” 

“What’re _you_ doing?” Erica asked, and all eyes settled on the werewolf. “You’re not actually a model, right?” 

“No.” Derek glanced at Stiles. “I was actually in college in New York.” 

“Doing what?” Stiles pressed. “He hasn’t told me yet, but it can’t be that embarrassing.” 

“Yeah, because at least you knew what you wanted to do, Derek,” Erica chimed in. 

Derek sighed. “Fine. I went to the Culinary Institute at Monroe College.” 

“Everything’s making so much sense now,” Isaac said. “Did Peter do a stint as well? Because damn can he cook.” 

“He took classes while going to law school in Stanford,” Derek supplied. He paused, took another glance at Stiles, and then quietly went on, “He, we, survived the Hale house fire.” 

“You’re Derek _Hale_ ,” Erica said, horrified, and Boyd’s suddenly rigid posture echoed her sentiment. “Fuck.” 

“Yes, quite.” Derek shrugged even as he leaned a little further into Stiles’ steadying hand. “My sister, Laura, couldn’t stay after what had happened, but Peter was in such bad shape that we had to leave him here. I guess I wanted to keep at least a part of him with us, hence me enrolling in culinary school.” 

“Did you enjoy it?” Boyd asked. 

“I liked the work well enough, but the environment is often loud and stressful, and I worked very long days sometimes. I don’t think I’ll finish.” 

“What else are you gonna do?” Erica asked, all dewy-eyed and compassionate. “I mean, everybody’s got to do something, don’t they?” 

“I don’t know, maybe some sort of handicraft. Something where people aren’t yelling at each other the whole day long.” 

Their drinks arrived then, and not a minute later their food followed, notably _not_ being brought by the waitress who’d taken their order. And as Stiles had predicted, there were extra fries, although Derek shoved them almost violently at the teens. 

For a while, they busied themselves with their lunch, only commenting on the juiciness of their burgers and the crispy saltiness of Stiles’ beloved curly fries. 

When the first appetite was sated, however, Erica asked, “How did you two meet, Derek? Don’t take it the wrong way, but you’re older than us and don’t seem like the social type.” 

“He was trespassing on my family’s land,” Derek answered dryly. 

“When was this?” Erica asked, curiously looking at the both of them. “It’s been a while, I can tell.” 

“In January,” Stiles admitted sheepishly. “Scott and I … he lost his inhaler during a, uh, nightly excursion in the woods. We went back the next day to look for it and met Derek.” 

“Your sister,” Boyd said, fixing Derek with his steady gaze. “She was found in January.” 

“Double fuck,” Erica offered. She suddenly rounded on Stiles, scowling. “I can’t believe that you went looking for her body!” 

“Hey, no one said I did!” Stiles cried. 

“Uh-huh,” Erica said flatly. “I know you by now, Batman, so try again.” 

“It’s okay, I’m over it,” Derek said. “Stiles wasn’t even the only one, he was just the one to step onto my property.” 

Stiles grimaced at this. “Man, I’m sorry. I _know_ that I was an asshole back then, but I’m trying to make up for that.” 

“You’re only partially succeeding,” Derek told him, but there was a tiny teasing lift to the corner of his mouth, and his voice held no rancor. 

“Anyway, I decided that Derek needed people around him, and after some twists and turns here we are,” Stiles said, popping another curly fry into his mouth. 

“What about you, Isaac?” Erica wanted to know. “Did you just join them when they were hanging out or something?” 

Isaac, who’d kept quiet by design, silently asked with a lift of his eyebrow whether it was alright to bring up Peter. Receiving a small nod from Derek, he said, “Actually, a while back Derek’s uncle happened to pass my house when my dad was hitting me. He called the cops and took me in once the custody issue was cleared up.” 

“You’re _living_ with Derek’s uncle?” Apparently Boyd could show surprise, because his mouth had dropped open a little, and his brows sat high on his forehead. 

“I’m seventeen, the state wasn’t gonna put me in a home without my consent. They figured that the legal proceedings weren’t worth it to get me in and then back out the system a mere nine months later,” Isaac explained. He smirked. “It helps that Peter was a lawyer before the fire, and that his advice was still good. Officially, I’m living at my house, but I haven’t been there in weeks. My dad’s welcome to it when he’s released in ten or so years.” 

“How is he? Peter, I mean. I couldn’t care less about your dad,” Erica asked, bewildered but curious. “Is he as hot as Derek?” 

“Yeah, unfortunately. It runs in the family,” Isaac retorted with an eye roll. “Though Peter’s dealing well with it, unlike Derek.” 

When Isaac didn’t offer any more information, Erica protested. “Come on, you can’t drop this bomb on us and not tell us everything! Do you have a picture? Is he so rich that he can care for you? How is he doing after everything?” 

Stiles ceded the floor to Derek and nudged Isaac to convey that he should let Derek take the lead. Even revealing their dealings with the man was already a huge deal; there was no need to drop even more information on Erica and Boyd in their quest of familiarizing them with the Hales. 

The conversation was lively enough anyway, especially after Isaac had showed a recent snapshot of Peter to the two teens. 

“He looks like a total sugar daddy,” Erica exclaimed, making both Derek and Isaac flush with mortification. “And can I say that I love his shirts? They look so soft.” She cackled, now fully in her element. “Is it very nice to cuddle up with him? Come on, spill, one of you must have some experience.” 

Seeing as neither of the werewolves were prepared to answer that question, Stiles raised his hand. “I’ll take that one.” 

Erica _beamed_ , which made it all worth it in Stiles’ book. 

He smirked. “In one word: _yes_. He smells good, too.” 

“I bet he does!” Erica shrieked. 

“Stiles,” Derek warned, visibly flustered. “He’s my _uncle_.” 

To his credit, Boyd didn’t look the least bit revolted, even as he said to Stiles, “He’s not trying to seduce you, is he?” 

“Nah, we’re just friendly.” Stiles sobered a little. “Good of you not to assume the worst, after what the papers have printed about him.” 

“You’re not the type,” Boyd said simply. “Plus, as a lawyer he knows exactly what he can and cannot do.” 

Erica just winked. “I wouldn’t _dare_ cast stones after seeing his picture. In fact, I’d probably be very naughty if he showed some interest. Say, when are we going to meet him?” 

“You’re killing me here,” Derek said, voice suspiciously croaky. “Just … no, Erica. Okay?” 

Cackling again, Erica hooted, “No promises.” 

“I feel flattered that you even think I might have a chance,” Stiles told his friends cheerily. “Seriously, thanks, you guys. You sure that you don’t want your extra fries, Derek?” 

And just like that the topic was exhausted and everyone’s attention moved to Isaac, who wanted their advice regarding the storyline for the first chapter of his comic. 

**End of chapter 29**


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two months and I'm still not finished. WHEN will I learn. *sigh*

**Chapter 30**

On Monday, Stiles went back to school. He was excused from gym class and also had a doctor’s note telling his teachers that he was to take it easy for another week. This meant no handling of chemicals in experiments during chemistry, which visibly pissed Mr. Harris off. 

“If you hadn’t gone and gotten involved with shady characters, you wouldn’t fail this test,” Harris said smugly while the other students were setting up their experiments. 

Stiles was just opening his mouth for a scathing retort when Jackson pulled back the empty chair next to Stiles and dropped into it heavily. 

“Is there a problem?” Jackson asked, raising his eyebrows at Mr. Harris. “You gonna fail Stilinski for being medically exempt? What are you, dumb?” 

“I … go back to your seat, Mr. Whittemore,” Harris blustered. 

“Nah, I don’t think so. You see, my dad is Stilinski’s lawyer, and he hates douchebags that abuse their positions of power.” Jackson smiled blandly. “ _Will_ you abuse your position of power, Mr. Harris?” 

Harris speared both Jackson and Stiles with a disgusted look before turning on his heel and striding off in a fair imitation of Professor Snape out of the Harry Potter movies. 

“Dude,” Stiles whispered, “why did you do that? I’d just have gone to the school board and gotten him reprimanded. Wouldn’t have been the first time.” 

Jackson smirked. “I know, but it’s more fun my way, Stilinski.” 

Stiles couldn’t deny it so he just kept his mouth shut, crossed his arms in front of his chest and watched Jackson set up his experiment. “Then let’s see what you’ve got.” 

“Ha, no. You tell me what to do. I hate chemistry, and if I have to be seen with you that’s the least you can do.” 

Snorting, Stiles leaned back in his chair. “I didn’t ask you to come over, Lord Douchenozzle.” 

“Yet I did. Now be grateful and tell me what this blue stuff here is for …” 

Amused despite himself, Stiles coached Jackson through the experiment and took notes, but left it to the other teen to write the actual protocol. He wasn’t _that_ amused with Jackson’s highhandedness. 

Isaac stole him away after class, keeping close to Stiles until their lunch break, whereupon they discussed Allison Argent following them around the building like a slightly murderous shadow. 

“I wonder what she wants,” Stiles said, opening the tupper box Isaac had brought him. “I mean, don’t the Argents have enough yet? If I wanted to be a dick about it I could call the cops on her for stalking.” 

“Why don’t you?” Isaac asked and popped a piece of roast into his mouth. “It’s no less than she deserves, if you ask me.” 

“To be honest, I’d much rather find out what that’s all about,” Stiles admitted, “but I’m afraid she’ll skewer me with an arrow or something.” 

“You still have her number. You could just ask. Or will that get you in trouble with your dad?” 

Stiles shrugged. “There could be precedent that contacting her first obsoletes the restraining order and I definitely don’t want that to happen. I’ll ask my dad or Mr. Whittemore. Until then it’ll keep.” 

“You sure?” Isaac looked at the dark-haired girl appraisingly. “She looks like she’s under pressure.” 

“Not my problem,” Stiles replied. He sampled the food and groaned. “Peter’s a god in the kitchen, I swear. How is it still so good cold?” 

Isaac snickered. “He does have a ton of magic books, maybe he’s got one about cooking magic.” 

“Say what,” Stiles said, intrigued. “You think you could find and borrow one?” 

oOo

That night, Stiles called his father to clear up the thing about contacting Allison. It was no surprise that the sheriff strongly advised against it. 

“There’s really nothing she could say to make the situation better,” Stiles father said. “That being said, Scott keeps asking to speak to you. He’s getting insistent about it, so Mr. Whittemore proposed to cease all communication with the other party until the trial. That way they can’t influence us unduly.” 

Stiles hummed thoughtfully. “It’d be hard for Melissa, but he’s probably right.” 

“All of us would get emotional during a talk and probably say more than we should,” his father agreed, “which wouldn’t serve us at all. The lawyer Scott’s father found would be present, of course, and he’d definitely use anything we say, as well as any weaknesses, against us. Scott’ll probably get off far lighter than he deserves anyway, so let’s not hand them even more ammunition.” 

“Have you told Melissa already?” Stiles asked. “I feel lousy about shutting her out after promising that we wouldn’t do that.” 

“She understands,” the sheriff assured him. “Plus, Whittemore’s pressing for a speedy trial. Since Scott’s lawyer’s doing the same, things should get going soon.” 

“How soon?” Stiles asked, his throat closing up a little. 

“They’re talking July which seems like a long time away for a kid your age, but let me tell you that my people are very hard at work trying to untangle the whole Argent mess so our story makes at least a lick of sense.” John sighed. “I’m more worried about Scott in custody. Melissa had to get his inhaler prescription renewed and filed with juvie, and she also had to bring him his bedding from home. He’s not doing so well with the fabrics and cleaning products in there, now that his asthma is back.” 

“Aw, shit.” 

Stiles’ father sighed. “Yes. Very. Despite everything it hurts to know that he’s suffering now.” 

“He still deserves it,” Stiles said stubbornly, fighting against the sting in his eyes. “He should’ve never laid a hand on you. And don’t think I didn’t notice that you didn’t tell me anything about the day in their clutches yet. It was bad, wasn’t it?” 

“It certainly wasn’t good,” John admitted softly. “Jacoby had me drugged most of the time, and he got a little rough when he was bored. Scott at least snuck me some water every now and then, but that was all. He never questioned Jacoby’s plan, at least not that I was aware of, and was eager enough to help set up the confrontation.” 

“I had my doubts, because it’s _Scott_ , but he really was fully on board, wasn’t he,” Stiles said darkly and when his father agreed quietly, the compassion for Scott’s plight turned to bitter ashes in his guts. “He can rot in hell.” 

“I’m very sorry, Stiles,” his father murmured. “I should’ve told you sooner - it’d have come out at the trial anyway - but I just wanted to spare you a little while longer.” 

“Don’t do that, dad. I’m not a kid anymore. I can handle it … I _will_ handle it.” Stiles closed his eyes and breathed deeply. “Sleep well, daddio. We’ll talk tomorrow.” 

“Night, kid,” the sheriff said sadly, and they hung up. 

oOo

Not being in near-constant contact with Peter apparently caused some sort of withdrawal because Stiles found himself texting the man often throughout the week. He also contemplated just showing up on his doorstep more than once, maybe with some food and a movie. Part of it was missing a vaguely adult-like presence in the absence of his father, of course, and another part of him was very curious about how Scott’s wolf spark was doing after a week of not having a real host, but the rest of Stiles just wanted some snarky and rude repartee without kid gloves which the rest of his friends was ill equipped to provide. 

While being understanding, Isaac nonetheless talked him out of it on Thursday night. 

“It’s not like he wouldn’t like to have his pack around,” the teen said, “but he’s still feeling shitty and doesn’t want to show any more weakness. Joke’s on him, though, because Derek sort of moved into the second level of the building and is ignoring all of Peter’s growling, which is sort of driving his relative powerlessness home.” 

“Did Peter actually say that?” Stiles asked incredulously. 

Isaac snorted. “Of course not, but that’s what he _means_. Anyway, he’s at least proactive. When he’s not busy puking his guts out, he’s drinking Iron Man style green smoothies and reciting healing spells.” 

“He does what now? Do they help?” Stiles demanded. 

“Somewhat, which is weird enough since werewolves usually don’t have a penchant for magic at all. I know I don’t. And no, he doesn’t want you to help with that because you’ll probably heal yourself more than him and you’ll need to look at least a little banged up for the hearing.” 

“He’s an idiot,” Stiles said sharply. “That horse has already left the barn. I’d rather learn how to cast a glamour for the doctors if I have to than let him play the martyr. Things are bad enough, and we might need him at full strength soon.” 

“I tried to tell him that but he just snarled at me like a grumpy old man.” Even over the phone Stiles could _see_ Isaac’s exasperated eye roll. 

“Hmpf. Seems like the self-sacrificing thing runs in the family too,” Stiles snarked. “But fine, if he wants to vomit himself raw, I won’t keep him from it. See you tomorrow.” 

“Yeah, see you,” Isaac replied. 

Stiles carefully threw the phone onto his bed and returned to what he’d been reading on his laptop. 

_If Peter doesn’t want me to heal him personally, I’ll send him a fucking med pack_ , he thought, jutting out his lower lip as he stubbornly scribbled runes and sigils onto the writing pad before him. _If it works in video games, I can fucking make it work in real life_. _Just watch me, Creeper Wolf._

On the writing pad, the sketch of a multi-sided die took form, a different magical symbol on each of its ten sides. There were placement issues to figure out, and he’d need to find a way to contain the healing energy within a certain perimeter, lest it just spread out and vanished instead of treating the intended recipient, but Stiles was pretty sure that it wouldn’t be a big deal to make it work. Isaac would probably test it for him, and maybe Derek too. In fact, he’d ask Derek as soon as the werewolf was done with his shower. 

_Now I just need to figure out whether to build the symbols in sympathetic clusters, or to place them on opposing sides_ , Stiles thought. 

A slight feel of mania blossomed inside of him. Usually this heralded the start of an extensive research binge, which could be hard to break on his own and was therefore nipped in the bud more often than not. For this project, however, Stiles welcomed the new burst of energy, and when Derek returned from his trip to the bathroom, Stiles tasked him with the procurement of a blank ten-sided die and then explained what he was planning on doing with it. 

That Derek chose to stay up with him instead of dragging him to bed at a reasonable time only fuelled Stiles’ belief that he was on to something. 

oOo

It took Derek a couple of days to procure half a dozen blank wooden dice of a large enough size for Stiles to work with, and Stiles thanked him for his effort by leaving Derek standing in front of the full fridge and encouraging him to stuff himself. Himself, he clutched the dice and stormed up to his room, where the pyrography set was already heated up and waiting. 

“Now I’m curious,” Isaac said from Stiles’ bed, where he was doing homework. “You really think it’ll work?” 

“I’ve got several designs, and Derek brought enough blanks for me to try them all. One of them is bound to work.” 

“You hope,” Isaac said dryly. 

“I hope,” Stiles agreed. “I’m pretty sure even the worst of them won’t make you explode, though.” 

“That completely soothes all my fears.” Isaac closed his math book. “Anything I can help with?” 

“Nah. Or wait, you could make me a sandwich before Derek empties out the fridge completely.” 

“One enough, or do you want more?” 

Stiles considered for a moment. “One with cheese, lettuce and pesto, and the other a BLT with lots of B. Thanks man.” 

Isaac shrugged. “Sure. See you in a few.” 

He left and Stiles turned back to the blank die before him. It fit well in his palm and was too light in colour to look like a proper magical utensil, but a little of the leftover dark stain in the garage would take care of that easily enough. 

“Okay. Fehu first, because that puking’s gotta stop …” Mumbling to himself, Stiles took up the pyrography pen and very carefully burned the rune into the wood. 

Checking his design, he turned the die and immediately continued with Laguz, imbuing as much of that warm feeling inside of his body into the dark brown lines as he could. 

Isaac only returned when Stiles was done, obviously having listened in on Stiles’ muttering and choosing not to disturb him while he was concentrating. 

“I had to fight Derek for the bacon,” Isaac told Stiles as he placed the plate with the two juicy sandwiches next to Stiles’ elbow. “Hey, looking good!” 

Stiles sat back and rolled the die around in his hands. “I’m surprised it turned out this well. I mean, it’s pretty enough, right? Now it only has to work.” 

“Gimme,” Isaac said and caught the die easily. “It feels a little warm.” He began rolling it around as well, just throwing it from one hand to the other and braggingly rolling it along his forearm before catching it again. “And I’m not uncomfortable.” 

“I’d say give yourself a little cut, but that wouldn’t do us any good,” Stiles said. “Maybe I can ask my dad. Meanwhile, what do think about setting up a healing area in Peter’s apartment? I could send a few ward stones with the die to keep the healing energy contained. Everyone in the field should theoretically benefit from it.” 

“If you think that works, why not,” Isaac said, letting the die spin on his index finger now. “Ten by ten feet should be good, or is that already too large?” 

“Dunno, you'll just have to try.” Stiles grabbed the plate and hungrily bit into his BLT. “Your fight for the bacon was obviously victorious, my friend. Never have I come across a BLT that was fifty percent perfectly fried bacon, and I _adore_ it. You’re hired as Derek’s sous-chef.” 

“Gee, thanks,” Isaac replied sarcastically, but he looked very pleased with himself. “Do you have some ward stones? I wanna try this out.” 

Stiles lobbed a baggie of rune-painted wooden disks at him and watched the other boy lay out a rough circle on the bed with them.

“And now I’m just rolling this thing around?” Isaac asked. 

“You can do that, but maybe we can also use a dice cup. Might be better if someone’s bad off.” 

Isaac nodded. “I’ll try that next.” He exhaled and looked at the die. “Here we go.” 

Cautiously, he began to roll it around in his cupped hands. When nothing immediately happened, he got braver and began spinning it around again, even managing to transfer it from the left index finger to the right without it losing momentum. 

“You know, I have no idea how you’re even doing that,” Stiles commented, “but you’re still looking good. No singed hair or smoking clothes so far.” 

“I feel a little warm,” Isaac said. He rolled the die along his forearm, knocked it off his elbow and caught it with his other hand, beginning the spinning anew. The air around him began to flicker a little, like it would above an asphalt road in the heat of summer. “Make that a little hot … uh.” 

Stiles stopped mid-chew. “Dude, stop. Your eyes are glowing! And your nose is running.” 

“What?” Isaac let the die drop into his lap and hastily touched the skin beneath his nose. His fingertips came away black and sticky. “Crap.” 

“Looks like the same icky stuff Peter’s losing,” Stiles said after gulping down his food. He scrunched up his nose. “Which means that you’ve come into contact with something nasty somewhere and are still working to get rid of it.” 

“It must be something in the environment because no one shot at me or anything.” Isaac found a tissue and blew his nose. The result looked like a little squid had exploded inside the white fabric. “Yuck!” 

“If even that’s enough to make you sniffle black goo, just imagine how hard Peter has to work to get rid of all the poison Jacoby had on his knives.” Stiles turned away from Isaac who took out another tissue to stem the trickle, and made a note next to the design he’d used. “And also, Derek was lying to me when he said that he didn’t need any healing. Speaking of, where is he?” 

“Still eating. He was checking the preserve earlier and it’s a lot of ground to cover for one alone.” Finally convinced that no new black snot would be running out of his nose, Isaac balled up the tissues and threw them expertly into Stiles’ waste bin. “Can I take this set with me? Even if Peter doesn’t want it, I’ll definitely use it.” 

“I’ll make more,” Stiles promised. “I guess all of you could do with a weekly session or so just to get rid of old toxins. But I’ll have to experiment first, see if I can come up with something better, or at least more gentle.” 

“I’d use a shaker right now to find out how that works, but I don’t want to bleed all over your room,” Isaac said apologetically. “I’ll do it at home, promise.” 

“No worries,” Stiles said. He took another huge bite of his sandwich. “‘m just glad it works. The rest is details.” 

“ _Details_.“ Isaac suddenly grinned. “Honestly, I can’t even with you right now. This is pretty amazing, and I already thought your wards were cool! Next you’ll be the pack doctor.” 

“I wouldn’t mind that,” Stiles mumbled around his food and grinned back. “Peter will have to lend me his books now because there’s no way I won’t keep doing this.” 

“I’ll see whether I can get a new book from him,” Isaac promised. “No guarantees what it’ll be about, but if you could choose, what would you like?” 

“Maybe something about offensive magic,” Stiles said immediately. “Wards and healing are fine, but we’re only three wolves and a dude who is a little magic. We need more firepower if we wanna survive hunters and whatever else is out there.” 

“Aye, captain.” Isaac saluted smartly. “You wanna play Mass Effect?” 

“Later, I wanted to do another die before I stop for the day,” Stiles said. “That okay? It won’t take long.” 

“It’s okay. I’ll start on my English homework.” Cocking his head, Isaac then said, “Derek said he’ll come up soon, he just wants to clean up the kitchen.” He smirked. “He’s offering to be your next guinea pig.” 

“Cool, but we’d better relocate to the bathroom,” Stiles retorted. “He’s gotten into a lot more contact with wolfsbane that you have and my carpet really doesn’t need any more stains on it.” 

“To probably quote the Bard: truer words were never spoken,” Isaac cackled. 

Stiles threw a piece of tomato in retaliation, snickering inwardly when Isaac actually caught it with his mouth like a well-trained dog. 

**End of chapter 30**


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To those of you who celebrate: Happy 4th of July!
> 
> ETA 09/26/2020: I did a thing, and embedded the pictures for your enjoyment. This fic is taking over my life, I swear. (It was still fun!)

**Chapter 31**

Derek’s trial of the second dice turned out to be … energetic, to say the least. 

Meaning that Derek, sitting inside the circle of ward stones, had barely shaken the die in the shaker when he’d started convulsing, not only losing his dinner but also what seemed to be years’ worth of old wolfsbane poisoning. And not only was he vomiting, the black goo was also dribbling from his nose and ears and even out of his tear ducts, which made for an honestly exorcist-esque nightmare right there in Stiles’ bathroom. 

Isaac tried to take the die out of Derek’s hand after the horror show started, but the werewolf held fast, demanding hoarsely to leave it, and to leave him alone until he’d purged everything from his body. 

“At least take the first die, it’s less harsh,” Isaac begged. “You literally look like death warmed over.” 

“Fine,” Derek panted, spitting out a whole mouthful of black slime. “Bring it here. Then you can have this one.” 

“Deal,” Stiles said frantically, nearly falling in his haste to get out of the bath and back into his room, where his first attempt at a magical med pack was lying innocently on his bed. Back in the bathroom, he pressed it into Derek’s outstretched, clawed hand, snatching the healing die from hell from the other. “I guess we can safely say that this one should only be used in extreme cases. Jesus!” He jumped away from the bathtub were Derek had crawled in while he’d been gone, only barely out of the way of another bout of vomit. 

“Yell if you need something,” Isaac said to the werewolf and manoeuvred Stiles out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind them. “Fucking hell! Peter will rip my face off for this!” 

Stiles gulped in a deep breath. “I’ll just paint that die red, then, yeah?” 

“Maybe we should burn it,” Isaac groused. “Or sell it to someone you can’t stand. How about McCall?” 

“We’re not burning or selling it,” Stiles snapped, cradling the die against his chest protectively. “He’s a little wild, that’s all. And if one of us should ever be close to dying, he could really help out.” He nuzzled the die with the tip of his nose. “Don’t let Isaac tell you that you’re not good enough. We both know the truth.” 

“You’re nuts,” Isaac declared. 

“Maybe.” Stiles shrugged and threw himself into his desk chair. “So complementary sides are out for normal healing … check. But the sympathetic clusters seem to work fine. With some tweaking I could maybe do speciality dice. And regular six-sided dice for everyday emergency use and stuff. Do you think Peter would go for it?” 

“It might be unusual enough in supernatural circles not to draw a lot of attention for a while,” Isaac said, sounding dubious. He slumped onto Stiles’ bed and starfished with a groan. “Gah, why do I have to think about gambling halls now, only with people wanting to be healed sitting at your tables? They’d play Craps or Yahtzee or something and hope for the best.” 

“That’s actually hilarious,” Stiles said, swivelling around and grinning. “Can we have one in your comic? That’d open up a whole new dimension to the story, with new characters and shady business and stuff. Plus, if your hero somehow manages to earn money or favours with that, he could buy better weapons and clothes. That’s always a bit iffy with teenage characters, and I hate when they’re completely helpless, so.” 

Intrigued despite himself, Isaac sat back up. “Money’s always good, but how would the hero even get in contact with the people running the casino? And also …” 

An animated discussion began and continued on for so long that Isaac skyped Boyd and Erica to get their input as well. The four of them had a great time - so much so that Stiles nearly forgot that Derek was being sick in his bathroom. 

Around two in the morning, however, his bladder urgently demanded relief and without thinking, Stiles went into the bathroom, only to shriek like a Hitchcock movie girl discovering a dead body. 

Because that was what Derek looked like, lying back in the tub like a murder victim. He was bone pale, almost completely covered in slick black goo, and there was barely any discernible breathing. At one point the man had started the shower, likely to get off the slime, but the water was icy cold now, and had to have been for a while considering the coldness of Derek’s skin. 

“Oh my god, Derek!” Stiles cried, turning off the water after slapping Derek’s cheek. “What happened? Come on, I swear to god, if you’re gonna pull a Peter on me I’ll make you regret it!” 

“Shit,” Isaac said as he appeared in the doorway, alarmed by Stiles’ panic. He rubbed his face with both hands. “I noticed him calming down a while ago, but this is not good.” 

“We need to wait for the boiler to heat up more water,” Stiles said. “That muck needs to go.” 

“He’s such an idiot,” Isaac groused. “Why can’t he take it slow for once? It’s not like we didn’t warn him!” 

“Maybe he’s a masochist,” Stiles said, considering the spacy guy in his bathtub. 

“That would actually explain a lot. He might be punishing himself for the Hale fire,” Isaac said quietly. He dropped to his knees next to Stiles and began scrubbing Derek’s face with a fresh washcloth. “My therapist talked to me about coping mechanisms, and Derek seems the type to cling to the past.” 

“They should all go to therapy, frankly,” Stiles sighed, picking up another cloth to help with the cleanup. “But I don’t know whether there are therapists in the know. I mean, this shit is even more confidential than the normal patient-doctor relationship. Just imagine yourself unloading somewhere, and the next thing you know there is another pack on your doorstep, challenging you for your territory. Must be hell on the mental health.” 

Isaac bit his lip. “That’s what Peter said.” 

“There might be worse things out there than werewolves,” Stiles added. “Like, I don’t know, demons or something.” 

“Stiles, can we not paint things with the blackest brush imaginable right now?” Isaac asked. “Please? I’d like to get this lug out of here and then eat a pint of ice cream because I _deserve_ a fucking pint of ice cream.” 

“We both do, but I’d much rather rack up a shit ton of good karma,” Stiles huffed. Derek was no help at all at getting the ruined shirt over his head, and his unresponsive carcass was weighing a ton. “The things I do for these guys, it’s appalling.” 

“Still a better deal than having to live with my old man,” Isaac said philosophically. 

Together they managed to undress Derek to his boxers and get him mostly cleaned up. His arms, chest, and hands were the worst, but at least those were the body parts Stiles could deal with without expiring on the spot. 

During the last rinse, the werewolf finally woke from his fugue state. His hazel eyes immediately sought out Stiles’ face, his expression apprehensive. 

“Sorry,” he said roughly and rubbed a hand over his stubble. 

Stiles gaped at him. “You’re _sorry_.” 

“What the hell, Derek,” Isaac complained. “I had a whole speech planned out to badger you with, you asshole.” 

Derek groaned and stiffly rose to his feet. He looked like a completely wasted underwear model after a two-day, no holds barred party at someone’s four-million-dollar villa. “I’d deserve it.” 

“Next time you listen to us,” Stiles bitched. “I bet you shook the other die until you passed out.” 

Derek shrugged half-heartedly. “I was already miserable, I thought I might as well get it over with.” He looked down at himself and then rotated his shoulders and arms. “I do feel better. Lighter than I have in years.” 

“There was a lot of icky stuff coming out of you,” Stiles told him archly. “Like, a gallon or something. You _owe_ us for making us have to deal with that.” 

“I could fix your jeep,” Derek offered, completely serious. “I think I know what makes her grind, and the shop would just rob you blind without really dealing with the problem. The guys there are assholes.” 

“Don’t I know it. Deal.” Stiles held out his hand and glared at Derek meaningfully until he shook it. Once that was out of the way, he dropped his hostile posturing. Concerned, he asked, “And you’re really feeling fine? Better than before?” 

“A lot better,” Derek confirmed. “I’ve never felt weak when I wasn’t physically injured, but the difference is … startling.” His earnest eyes wandered from Stiles to Isaac. “You’re right, we should use your die regularly to detox. I didn’t even know that traces of wolfsbane remained behind after burning it out.” 

“Yet another thing I wish I’d never have to do again,” Stiles sniped. “Being a were really isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Fucking masochists.” 

Isaac patted Derek’s shoulder. “Let’s find something for you to wear; Stiles is getting defensive in your presence.” 

“... why?” Derek asked slowly, uncomprehending. 

Stiles ignored them both and stomped down the stairs and into the kitchen. With some luck there’d still be some food left in the fridge. If not, that was tough luck because after Chris Argent’s unwelcome visit the other day Stiles wasn’t taking any chances with ordering in. 

Thankfully, there were some sandwich fixings left, though most of them were vegetables and sauces. Stiles still managed to build half a dozen sandwiches by creatively distributing the leftover cheese and ham, pinned them with toothpicks, and carried them upstairs were Derek gratefully wolfed them down. 

“I’ll go shopping in the morning,” he rumbled after the worst of his appetite was allayed. “I’ll replace everything.” 

“Don’t sweat it, dude,” Stiles said, sitting down heavily next to Derek. “I’ll probably sleep until lunch, anyway. Thank god it’s the weekend. You can do me a favour, though.” 

“Anything,” Derek said quietly. 

“Get me some durable wood paint for my dice. How about some dark stain, and colours to mark the strength of the dice? I thought I could paint the rounded corners, that would make them look a little more mysterious.” 

“I can do that.” Derek set down the empty plate and very deliberately leaned against Stiles. “Which colours do you want?” 

“I thought turquoise for mild healing, and red is for the heavy duty dice, of course. Medium … no idea.” 

“How about gold, for the golden middle?” Isaac said. “And if you develop more rune schematics for your dice, you can always branch out.” 

“I like gold,” Derek murmured. He sounded drowsy. Not a second later he bonelessly flopped backwards, his eyes closed. 

“Should I wake him and send him home, or can he crash here?” Isaac asked with raised eyebrows. “And should I take a picture to entertain Erica and Boyd later?” 

Stiles stared at the conked out werewolf. “You know what? Take a picture. That’ll teach him a lesson.” 

oOo

True to his word, Derek went out around noon the following day to get groceries and the painting utensils Stiles had asked for. Isaac went with him to get dropped off at home for a change of clothes and some quality time with Peter. 

Meanwhile, Stiles was fussing with the friendship bracelet he had made for Lydia ages ago but hadn’t found the courage to give to her. The hemp strings were a pretty mix of pink and white, and the focus object in the middle was a hibiscus blossom carved out of mother of pearl. He’d gone over it so often the past three or so weeks that it was fairly sparkling with protective energy and yet it still didn’t feel like enough. 

The bracelet begged to differ, however, and refused any more infusions of his will. 

“Fine, I’ll just work on the one for Lord Douchebag, then,” Stiles grumbled, reluctantly turning to the sea blue-stringed bracelet before him. It had a brass coin depicting a dragon woven into it, with a few silvery black hematite beads giving it that little extra bling. As a whole, it looked fairly understated because Jackson didn’t do frilly nonsense, but Stiles thought the colours would appeal to his sense of style. 

Plus, hematite was apparently a rockstar when it came to grounding drama queens, and Jackson certainly was _that_. 

Stiles stared at the bracelet thoughtfully, suddenly a little conflicted about only giving it the most basic of features. While Jackson was still a grade A douche, he was also seeking out Stiles’ company occasionally and inquiring after his dealings, which was more than what Scott had been doing these last months. And he had also helped him get to Peter, Kate, and Scott in the woods when Stiles had most needed it, even if Jackson had had no idea just how desperate Stiles had been for that help. 

No, basic wouldn’t do for someone who kept coming back for semi-aggressive snarkiness and shitty experiences, Stiles decided. Heck, he had almost fond feelings towards the guy right now, and there _was_ that thing about rewarding good behaviour. He hadn’t let Jackson drive his own car back to town that night, but maybe it was time now to reward him. 

_Besides, one of my bracelets is hardly comparable to a werewolf bite_ , Stiles rationalized as he rubbed the dragon on the coin with his thumb, thinking hard about protection and good luck. _He isn’t pack, but maybe he could actually become a school acquaintance that I don’t actively hate._

A few minutes later he was happy with his work and studied the two bracelets. Together they complemented each other very well, which seemed somehow fitting, considering that Jackson was working hard at regaining Lydia’s trust and being there for her. What little Stiles had seen of them together at school had been almost _sweet_. 

He hoped that it was enough to help Lydia overcome the trauma of Peter’s attack. 

oOo

Come Monday, Stiles was a nervous wreck. The bracelets were burning a hole in his pocket and all of his friends were worrying about his state. 

“You could wait until the weekend,” Erica said, hooking her arm around Stiles’ and leaning her head against his hunched shoulder. “Invite them to the ice cream parlor or something and do it there. I know that I wouldn’t want witnesses either.” 

“If I don’t do it now, I’ll probably never find the nerve,” Stiles admitted. He wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans. 

“You could write a note and throw it in their lockers,” Boyd offered. 

“That’s creepy, we won’t do that,” Isaac shot him down. “Have you never noticed how much crap people leave in both their lockers? They’d just throw it out with the rest of the gifts.” 

“Urgh,” Stiles garbled when the cafeteria came into view. “Why am I like this?” 

“Because you’re a good person,” Erica said loyally. She smiled down at her own bracelet. “We could keep you company, lend some moral support.” 

Stiles found Jackson already sitting at a table his arm around Lydia’s shoulder. Danny was off flirting with a boy from the lower year, which was probably the best he’d get. “It’s alright, I’ll only be a minute.” 

He left his friends and plopped down in a chair across from his quarry. 

“Stilinski,” Jackson greeted, raising both eyebrows in surprise. “What’s up?” 

“Nothing much, just saying hello.” Stiles looked at Lydia, noting her perfectly applied makeup and carefully styled hair. She looked gorgeous, if still rather insecure. “Hey Lyds. How’s it going?” 

“Fine,” she replied, not coldly but definitely wary of his motives. 

“I, uh … okay, it’s like this. I consider you two friends, even if we don’t really do the friendly hanging out thing,” Stiles gesticulated awkwardly. “Anyway, I made the others a little something and thought I’d offer it to you as well. If you want. No pressure, though.” 

“I like gifts, so you have a shot,” Jackson smirked. “But if it’s crap, I’ll shove it down your underwear. Right here.” 

“Oh, kinky, haha,” Stiles retorted and rolled his eyes. Even more awkwardly, he fumbled the two bracelets from his jeans pocket and slid them over the table. “Here. Like I said, it’s nothing much. But, the others like them, so.” 

Jackson’s gaze dropped from Stiles to the blue bracelet and back up again. “Really? What are we, ten?”

Next to him, Lydia carefully put her index finger onto the loose cords of hers and pulled it closer. “You made this?” she asked quietly. 

Her tone of voice made Jackson look at her sharply. 

“Yeah, well, mostly. I bought them online and added a few things to personalize them a little.” Stiles shrugged. “Like you do.” 

Lydia’s expressive eyes raised to Stiles’. “Like you do,” she echoed. Her lips pursed for just a moment, and then her fingers curled around the bracelet. “Thank you.” 

“What?” Jackson was visibly dumbfounded. 

“It’s lovely. Would you put it on?” Lydia asked Stiles, holding out her left wrist. 

Hardly able to believe his luck, Stiles hastened to fasten the white and pink bracelet around her delicate wrist. He still checked twice to make sure it wasn’t too loose, but loose enough to wiggle out of for gym class without having to undo all the knots. 

“Lyds, why?” Jackson protested. 

Lydia took his hand and squeezed it gently. “Because it is a very thoughtful gift.” Without asking for permission, she took Jackson’s and tied it carefully around his right wrist. “It suits you very well.” 

Stiles exhaled loudly and slumped a little in his chair. “Well, I’m glad!” He pointed at Isaac, Erica, and Boyd, who were all unabashedly staring at them. “I’d better get back over there. See you around!” 

He fled then, trying very hard to ignore the stares and little whispers of the other students in the cafeteria. Especially Danny’s inquiring eyes were hard to take - Stiles knew for a fact that Danny had very little scruples going snooping where he wasn’t necessarily wanted if something caught his interest. 

oOo

“Stiles,” Peter greeted when Stiles called that night. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” 

“Three things,” Stiles replied. “One, how are you, two, I gave Lydia and Jackson their bracelets, and three, I might need a new laptop.” 

Peter was silent for a moment before saying, “Better after a week of diligent and judicious health management, fine, and why all of a sudden?” 

Stiles sighed, annoyed. “Because Jackson and Lydia are friends with someone who’s very good at hacking, and I’m positive that I’ve caught his attention today. It might be nothing, but it’d be easy for him to hack my laptop and find all the supernatural shit I’ve been researching.” 

“And now you’re applying to me to procure a laptop that’s solely for your work for the pack,” Peter murmured. 

“Yeah. If that’s okay. I’d buy it myself, but a lot of my money already went into stuff for the bracelets and dice and I don’t wanna ask my dad for more.” Stiles rubbed his flushed neck. “The hospital bills are … yeah.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Peter said. “A laptop is hardly an unreasonable request. I should’ve thought of it earlier. Any special requirements?” 

“Nah, I won’t use it for gaming or anything. Although a couple of external hard drives and the biggest RAM you can find would be good because I’m a bookmark and tab hoarder. Oh, and it should have a SSD. That way I can lug the laptop around without harming it.” 

Peter hummed agreeably. “Anything else you need? Remember that I told you to keep a list.” 

“Dude, I feel like all I do is asking for more,” Stiles huffed, uncomfortable. 

“And I told you that I’m prepared to meet your needs, especially with that delightful new talent of yours,” Peter countered. “Set up a list I can view online and keep it updated. Maybe I can train my nephew to coordinate with you; that’d free up my hands and time for the Argent and McCall trials.” 

“Derek’s already been helping out so I wouldn’t mind that,” Stiles admitted. “Can I just say that he’s a little, er, negligent when it comes to his own wellbeing? I honestly thought he’d die in my bathtub.” 

“Isaac told me _all_ about that,” Peter drawled. “In some ways Derek’s not the sharpest tool in the shed, although he’s far from stupid.” 

“He could go to therapy for the Paige thing,” Stiles said. “Tweak the whole thing a little that some sort of hippie witch doctor gave her some weird medicine to heal her and it should work. It’s not even a lie, technically. But it’s necessary - it's killing him.” 

“As soon as we’re on better than growling terms, I’ll bring it up with him,” Peter said. “What about you? Things with The Failure haven’t gone well, never mind all the other stressful moments my presence in your life has caused.” 

“Right now I'm dealing with it,” Stiles said. “I’ve got Isaac to unload, and Derek is surprisingly good for snuggle therapy.” 

“Now I feel like I don’t contribute enough,” Peter quipped, smirk audible in his voice. 

Stiles flushed again. “Wouldn’t that be weird if we did that?” 

“Not if you needed it,” Peter said. “ _Do_ you need me for snuggle therapy?” 

“I …” Stiles’ mouth opened and closed a couple of times but no sound passed his frozen vocal cords. 

“I’ll come over. See you soon, Stiles.” 

With that, Peter hung up and Stiles was left wondering what had just passed between them. 

**End of chapter 31**


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a cozy little chapter until things pick up momentum again. :)

**Chapter 32**

Stiles was a nervous wreck by the time a knock sounded at the door. The security camera revealed the visitor to be Peter … and he was bearing gifts. 

“I thought I’d buy you dinner first,” the werewolf said and offered a large paper bag filled with fragrant Thai food from the best place in Beacon Hills. “May I come in?” 

Brain stalling a little, Stiles mechanically stepped aside to allow Peter entry and then followed him to the kitchen. “Uh, you didn’t have to bring dinner.” 

“But I wanted to, and you’re a growing boy that my dear nephew regularly relieves of all edibles in the house.” Peter easily found the plates and cutlery. “What’re you in the mood for? Duck or chicken? There are also spring rolls; I know you like the large fried ones.” 

Stiles managed to choose the duck, the dark sauce of the dish fragrant and spicy with a tang of plum mixed in. There seemed to be an unusual abundance of all sorts of sauteed vegetables which was offset by only one carton of white rice. However, after a while of enjoying meals cooked by Peter, it barely seemed strange to Stiles to have comparatively few carbs to go with his protein and fat. In fact, he barely missed them anymore. 

With two very generous helpings of food in hand, Peter directed Stiles to get their cutlery and drinks and then led the way to the living room. 

“Uhm, we’re not … going upstairs?” Stiles asked, confused. Normally the werewolves in his life preferred Stiles’ territory in the house. 

A slow smile curled around Peter’s lips. “I think buying you dinner is enough for now, Stiles. Let’s not give your old man a heart attack just yet.” 

Stiles flushed hotly. “That wasn’t what I … you know what, never mind.” 

Peter chuckled. “Get in here, the food’s getting cold.” 

They sat down on the sofa, flipped on the TV and chose a Supernatural rerun because Peter didn’t have a chance to watch it yet and Stiles was eager to find out what, if anything, of the lore was legit. 

“The depiction of werewolves is atrocious,” Peter scoffed halfway in and pointed at the young, freshly turned woman on screen. “The losing time aspect is somewhat correct, granted, but that’s only to be expected after being magically forced to change your species. A brain has to reconfigure first before being able to correctly access and interpret information.” 

“Would you rather have it be accurate?” Stiles asked skeptically, looking from the TV to Peter. “I thought that’d be a breach of the Statute of Secrecy.” 

“You like saying that, don’t you?” Peter stole the end piece of the fried duck from Stiles’ plate and ate it showing off far too many teeth. “But yes. The _Statute of Secrecy_. Our elected council would have to agree for someone to distribute information in such a manner to mundanes.” 

“Which reminds me that I really, really want your book about that.” Having shed his bemusement, Stiles reached over and stole a forkful of chicken and pineapple from Peter’s plate in retaliation. “Because, _council_! How crazy is that?” 

“It’s nothing special if you’ve grown up with it,” Peter said. He put his plate down and turned towards Stiles. “I’m working on digitizing my library and you’re welcome to all of it.” 

The fork fell from Stiles’ suddenly weak fingers. “ _All of it_ , all of it?” 

“You’re pack. There won’t be secrets between us going forward, for better or worse.” 

Stiles stared at him. There was a pressure between them that was different from all the other times they’d been in close proximity. In response to his unflinching look, Peter’s eyes bled red, only to flicker and change to a startling amber. Unlike the last time, Peter didn’t flinch. He just stayed as he was, exuding a calm acceptance of the weird things going on inside of him. 

“There you are,” Stiles whispered, awed. He raised a hand to Peter’s face but didn’t touch. “I miss you, buddy, which is stupid because we’ve known each other for like an hour, tops.” 

“Some epic friendships have begun in far less time,” Peter rumbled, eyes half-lidded. “He likes you. He’s also … agitated.” 

“Something I did?” Stiles asked, letting the hand sink away again. He startled when Peter caught it and pressed it firmly against his stubbled cheek. At once, something like a warm frisson skittered over his skin. “I … whoa! Is that him?” 

“He’s missing you, too,” Peter told him, his fingers a warm cage around Stiles’ palm. “It’s easier to stay away than have his attention divided, unfortunately, otherwise I’d be around more.” 

“I thought you were doing better?” Stiles asked, still mesmerized by Peter’s light eyes. 

“I am, and your wolf spark is very hard at work purging the last of the poison.” Peter shifted very slightly in Stiles’ palm, almost rubbing his cheek against the sensitive skin there. “It’s still an ongoing process, though. Isaac almost has me convinced to try out one of your healing dice.” 

“If you take the mellow one, it probably won’t kill you,” Stiles murmured. After another moment of looking into Peter’s eyes, he blurted out, “Do you guys give your wolves names?” 

Surprised, Peter blinked, which caused the amber in his eyes to fade away again. “The born weres do not, not to my knowledge. I certainly didn’t; there is just me. Do you want to name yours?” 

“ _Is_ it mine?” Stiles asked, taking away his hand now and cradling it in his other one to keep the soothing warmth of the wolf in his palm. 

“Sweetheart, it was always yours. I just bit the wrong boy in the woods.” Peter’s voice gained an edge. “You’ll have him back as soon as I can give him up, you have my word. The idea of having a name … hmmm. It pleases him.” 

“Taking him will turn me, though, and I don’t think I’m ready for that so soon,” Stiles murmured, looking down at his clenching fingers. 

“You had him with you without turning,” Peter reminded him. “Maybe you can hold him with your mountain ash until you’re ready. You’ll find out whether it’s a long term solution and if it turns out it isn’t, we’ll find another way to keep him close to you.” 

Stiles couldn’t help the hot gratitude welling up in him. It was shocking to discover just how much that meant to him, and how much it had truly bothered him that Scott had been the one to be so blessed and not him, even if it would’ve been involuntary. Stiles just knew that he’d have made it work, for all of them. “Thank you.” 

Calmly, Peter took the nearly empty plate from Stiles’ lap and set it down on the couch table. Then, he simply pulled the teen into a one-armed side-snuggle that was both weirdly innocent and exciting. Even through the man’s shirt Stiles could feel the energy of his - his! - wolf spark, rolling through Peter like a happy puppy. 

“You keep being so accommodating and you’ll never get rid of me,” Stiles murmured, relaxing almost against his will so deeply that everything went a little fuzzy around the edges. 

Peter’s voice was rumbly as he replied, “That’s the plan, Stiles. I’m not going anywhere.” 

He proved it by providing a warm embrace and a sturdy shoulder to rest on until Stiles woke again in the early morning hours and reluctantly took himself off to bed so he wouldn’t be completely useless in school the next day. 

oOo

Breakfast with - and made by - Peter was so domestic that it was almost creepy. Stiles got to eat French toast, bacon, and half of a perfectly ripe, buttery avocado, seasoned only with a sprinkle of sea salt and a few drops of lemon. 

“Are you buttering me up for something?” Stiles asked, inhaling the first of his three slices of toasts. 

“Always,” Peter smirked. He let a perfect omelet glide onto his own plate and returned the pan to the stove. “I’d like to borrow your healing die. I’ve got nothing to do today and since your father will return from the hospital and keep you busy, I thought I’d try it.” 

“Alright, but please don’t overdo it. Isaac won’t thank me if he has to scrub you down, too.” Stiles grinned. “Man, he was _so_ pissed at Derek.” 

“Speaking of healing, how are you doing? You don’t smell like pain anymore and the bruise is almost completely gone,” Peter noted. 

Stiles sighed. “I know. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad that I can sleep without waking up every hour or so because I turned and put my weight on it like an idiot, but people are noticing.” He shrugged. “Can’t be helped, though, if I want to keep experimenting with the healing runes. Even the bleed-off from making the dice is obviously enough to affect me.” 

Peter’s eyes were fixed on Stiles with naked fascination, his omelet forgotten. “I just realized that I never got around to tell you that I couldn’t care less about having your injuries on display for the mundane law enforcement. If you can heal yourself, do it. Use makeup if you feel the need to sell the injury, but don’t keep yourself back on _my_ account.” 

“Oh. Okay. Thanks.” Stiles bit his lip. “Uh, I wanted to ask, now that we know that this stuff is working … could I maybe help Erica? Just a little, so her seizures won’t be so bad in the future, if she got them at all?” 

“You gave her the bracelet before discovering healing magic,” Peter said, thoughtful. “I don’t have anything against it per se, but an obviously magical die might be a bit much for a human. Tweaking her bracelet might be safer for the time being.” 

“Yeah, true. If I can get my hands on it for a couple of minutes I definitely will,” Stiles replied. “She could even be still attached to it, though that might be difficult with Boyd standing guard over her like he does. I’d just like a contingency plan.” 

“Your concern for your friends is to your credit,” Peter said, finally remembering his food and taking a bite. “Would you be averse to do the same to our bracelets?” 

“Of course not,” Stiles said quickly. “She’s just more vulnerable than even you.” He looked at his watch. “I could do yours right now, I still have fifteen minutes before I have to leave.” 

“I’d rather you ate your breakfast without resorting to gobbling,” Peter replied mildly. “I’ll have your die until it’s more convenient and if your father is interested in using it as well, I’ll have Isaac bring it back at once.” 

“Nah, keep it. I’ll make more during the next couple days. Ward chips, too, you’ll need those to keep the healing energy from vanishing into the ether.” 

“Isaac referred to it as a _med pack_ ,” Peter mused. “It’s oddly fitting.” 

“I’ll find a green little pouch for it,” Stiles said around the avocado-and-bacon goodness in his mouth, grinning. 

They finished breakfast and Stiles ran back up to his room to get the die and the wooden ward chips. Lacking a pouch, Stiles stuffed the items into a sock and tied it with a piece of leftover hemp string from a failed bracelet experiment. 

“Have a good day at school,” Peter said at the door. He caught Stiles in a hug and rubbed his cheek against the teen’s. “Remember to stay away from Allison Argent. Mr. Whittemore informed school security of her stalking, they’ll have an eye on her now. It might backfire if you don’t protest her presence, so don’t hesitate to throw her under the bus.” 

“Oh, good to know.” Stiles clumsily returned the cheek rub, inwardly wiggling happily at the notion to warrant a proper werewolf sendoff like Isaac always got. “Thanks for breakfast, and dinner last night, and … you know. The cuddle therapy was pretty great, too.” 

Peter smiled smugly. “It was. Now off with you, or you’re going to be late.” 

“Crap.” Stiles nearly fell out the door. In all the hurry he forgot to be embarrassed about being so close to a guy almost double his age, and enjoying it a little too much for his peace of mind. 

oOo 

During lunch it had been impossible for Stiles to manoeuver himself into a situation where holding Erica’s hand with the bracelet around the wrist for any length of time seemed like a natural thing to do, but the same wasn’t true at home. 

The sheriff had been dropped off by a deputy in the afternoon, amidst many declarations of relief at finally being allowed to sleep in his own bed and get rid of the pain meds - Stiles knew because they _all_ snitched on his dad - but the truth was somewhat different. 

It only took a minute for Stiles to suss out that his father’s ribs were still smarting uncomfortably after a couple of hours of roaming around the house, and that the man resented feeling dependent on anyone, but especially his own child. 

“You’re already doing enough around the house,” the sheriff grumped as Stiles helped him ease down into his armchair. “I can’t ask you to also be my doctor, kid.” 

“You didn’t protest at the hospital,” Stiles said, exasperated. “Playing doctor for this really isn’t a hardship. You _have_ seen how quickly my fracture has healed, right? Look, it’s just five minutes of reading in Latin, that’s literally no effort on my part, and it’ll work just as well here as it did there.” 

John’s lips pressed together stubbornly. “You shouldn’t even have to do that much. In fact, from now on I’ll do a lot better and help around the house more.” 

“I’m not gonna talk you out of that,” Stiles said bluntly, “but if you wanna do penance I’d prefer it if you were healed up for it. You’re not gonna be much help like this, are you?” 

His father stared at him. “Hell, kid, you’re not pulling your punches.” 

“No, because I know you. It’s not gonna get through if I do, and I don’t have time for dancing around the issue,” Stiles stated. “If you’re worried about Dr. Lee and Dr. Smith, I’m pretty sure they’re on our side. They won’t ask too many questions and I think Peter’s got plans for them to maybe get read in on the supernatural side of things so we’ll have some allies at the hospital.” 

“I can’t say I’m comfortable with his level of planning,” the sheriff admitted, “but at the same time, I’m impressed. _Reluctantly_.” 

Stiles snorted. “You’ll get used to it. So, can I do something about your ribs now, or what? I hate vacuuming and you bet that I’ll let you do it as soon as you’re good to go.” 

Still a little stunned, John nonetheless caught Stiles’ face between his large hands and smiled his wry half-smile. “Alright. I’ll also promise not to buy and hide any more junk food.” 

That took some of the wind out of Stiles’ sails. “What, why?” 

“ _Someone_ dropped off a couple of books at the hospital and since I didn’t have much else to do …” Stiles’ father shrugged. “Besides, Dr. Lee wasn’t impressed with my bloodwork either, so why not try Peter’s approach for a while. It’s better than having to swallow pills, what with our intolerance to a lot of meds.” 

“You have a deal,” Stiles said. He clasped his father’s wrists and _pushed_ as much of his will for a long and healthy life into the bracelet as he could. It was a little clumsy, but it still felt like it had worked, so he’d be content with that for now. “I’d say reading some healing spells now and dinner afterwards?” 

“Oh yes. Peter started a stew before he left and I definitely want some of that!” 

**End of chapter 32**


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I have no in-depth idea how the legal system in the US works, especially when it comes to kids and adolescents. What I portrayed, I got from internet sources that hopefully aren't too bad. If anyone's got pointers to make it a little more realistic, let me know and I'll see if I can fit it in. If not, just take it as poetic licence. Thanks. :)

**Chapter 33**

  
  


With Sheriff Stilinski’s release from hospital, things around Stiles were set in motion. Despite having already given a comprehensive statement, Stiles still missed two full days of school to meet with Mr. Whittemore, Scott’s lawyer Ludger Clark, and the judge, to go over the proceedings and hash out some details. Both the sheriff and Melissa, and of course Scott, were present as well, which made for several very uncomfortable hours. The only high point of the second day was the announcement that their actual day in court had been moved up by almost a month, to the middle of June. 

Stiles was certain that Scott’s failing health played a big part in this decision. 

“Mr. McCall has repeatedly expressed an interest in a conversation with Mr. Stilinski,” Mr. Clark said to Mr. Whittemore because Stiles’ father had made it clear that he wouldn’t say a word directly to the somewhat slimy opposing lawyer. “In my opinion it would be in both their best interests if such a conversation were allowed to take place, so they can begin to heal the rift between them.” 

“Excuse me,” Mr. Whittemore said coldly, “but in what manner the Stilinski family sets about their _healing_ is none of your or the defendant's business. Both of them have repeatedly made it very clear to me that they don’t have any interest whatsoever in communicating with the boy who so selfishly and thoughtlessly endangered both their lives.” 

“Your refusal won’t look good in court,” Mr. Clark warned, disregarding Melissa’s sound of protest. “Nobody likes a hardened attitude, and the court of public opinion does play a role.” 

The judge, a woman in her late fifties by the name of Stephenie O’Neill, cleared her throat. “Calm yourself, Mr. Clark. You’re very close to threatening the Stilinskis with defamation of character to gain ground for your client and I won’t have it. I can’t do anything about what the press has already published, but be assured that I _can_ make your professional life very difficult going forward.” 

“Your Honour,” Mr. Clark gasped, scandalized. 

“Do not test me, Mr. Clark. I know that you hotshot lawyers from the big city think you’ve got it all figured out, but there are laws in this country to protect our minors, and I’ll ensure that we _all_ adhere to them. Be grateful that all concerned parties have supported your plea for an adjudication instead of a trial, because as far as I’m concerned, Scott McCall is both old _and_ educated enough to stand trial as an adult. He was best friends with the son of a sheriff, after all, so there is no way I’d allow him to claim ignorance.” 

“Judge O’Neill,” Mr. Clark tried, but she cut him off sharply. 

“No, Mr. Clark, you will be satisfied with the concessions already given. The adjudication is closed to the public, you will do _nothing_ to rile up the participants or the public unduly, and you will behave in a manner becoming your profession. I realize that this isn’t asking for much, but we do have some standards and I’ll hold you to them.” 

Huffing, Mr. Clark sat back down and from behind him and Melissa, Scott made pitiful eyes at Stiles, who did his best to ignore him. 

Judge O’Neill then turned to Mr. Whittemore, eyebrows raised high above the rim of her square glasses. “Are you very sure that you still support the decision to have Scott McCall tried as a juvenile?” 

“Ma’am, it’s already been decided!” Mr. Clark spluttered, promptly jumping to his feet again. 

Stiles wondered whether Scott’s father could’ve found a more excitable guy and decided that no, probably not. 

“We do, in fact,” Mr. Whittemore said. “Our primary goal is Stiles’ protection from further public speculation, and since Mrs. McCall is an exemplary member of society, we thought it prudent to afford her son one chance to redeem himself and atone for his poor choices before it permanently mars his criminal record. It is a courtesy to her.” Whittemore looked coldly at Scott, a sneer curling his lips. “Do make use of the opportunity given to you or you won’t like the consequences.” 

“Yes, sir,” Scott said quietly and so sincerely that it set Stiles’ teeth on edge. 

“Thank you,” Melissa mouthed, tears in her eyes. In her lap, her hands were so tightly clasped that all of her knuckles stood out bone white on her lightly tanned skin. 

Stiles felt furious anew on her behalf for Scott’s idiocy. Even though he wished for the full measure of the law to befall his former best friend, he hated what it would do to Melissa. 

Next to him, his father took his hand and squeezed it gently. It was that which allowed Stiles to take a couple of deep breaths, and to ignore Scott’s continuing boring gaze. 

“Good,” Judge O’Neill said. “The adjudication will take place on June 16, as planned. Scott McCall will remain in custody as his connection to the Argent family is investigated further. Mrs. McCall, your son will continue to have meetings with both law enforcement officers and psychologists to further determine his involvement. Mr. Clark will need to be present, but I’ll impress upon you all, again, how important his cooperation is. Any lacking willingness to fully clear up the circumstances _will_ influence my ruling.” 

“Understood, Your Honour,” Mr. Clark said. While sporting a bland expression, Stiles was sure that the man was bitterly disappointed with how unimpressed the county judge was by his ‘big city’ law degree. 

“Then you’re dismissed. Barring any further development that’ll require me to reevaluate the current proceedings, I’ll see you on the 16th. Good day.” Judge O’Neill stood first and briskly left the room through a door in the back. 

Mr. Clark opened his mouth but Mr. Whittemore pointed a finger at him and said, “Not one word. My clients are not available for your emotional manipulations. And no, they won’t retract their application for a permanent restraining order against your client so don’t even ask.” 

“They’re applying for a restraining order against a seventeen year old boy,” Clark insisted. “Surely that’s excessive.” 

“It was also excessive to backhand Stiles so hard that it nearly snapped his spinal cord,” Mr. Whittemore retorted, unmoved. “I don’t care whether that restraining order follows your client all through his life. If it were my son I had do represent here, your client would first rot in prison and then suffer for the rest of his life as much as possible.” 

Mr. Clark blanched and then flushed with anger. “Don’t be so sure that you’ll get your way, Whittemore.” 

“Save it for your plaidoyer in June,” Mr. Whittemore drawled. He turned to Stiles and the sheriff. “Are you ready to leave?” 

“Yes,” John said. “Give us just a moment to say goodbye to Melissa. We won’t be seeing her for a while now.” 

Both Stilinski men hugged the tearful woman but didn’t stay to talk. At half five in the afternoon they were already done with the day and went straight home, where Stiles retreated to work on more healing dice and his research for offensive magic. John, his ribs already much better after three days of healing spells, chose to pick up around the house and start dinner for the first time in ages. 

“I know that losing Scott like this is hard,” Stiles’ father said as they enjoyed their roast and salad. “You’re resilient, though, and you’ve found yourself some good new friends. They’ll help you deal with it. And if you want to talk to someone more professional, I can make that happen, too.” 

“I probably should, huh?” Stiles asked. “It’d look good for the adjudication, too.” 

“It would,” John agreed, “but all I really want for you is to be happy. I know that I should’ve kept going after your mom’s death and I deeply, _deeply_ regret that I didn’t. It cost me years with you that I won’t ever get back.” 

“You could start again,” Stiles suggested quietly. “Make it a quid pro quo situation.” 

“You’ll go if I go?” The sheriff smiled wryly. “Yes, absolutely.” He raised his water glass for a toast. “To our mental health. Let’s break years, if not decades, of not-so-manful repression and denial this summer.” 

“Cheers, daddio,” Stiles said, tapping his glass to his father’s. 

oOo 

It should’ve been harder than it actually was to find a therapist both Stilinskis liked, and while finding a way to _begin_ their talk therapy did prove somewhat complicated, the actual talking portion came easily once that was accomplished, at least for Stiles. 

In fact, once he’d started airing his grievances he found it hard to stop. Stiles’ mind, Dr. Rena said after only two sessions, was apparently of the pragmatic sort: once it had begun working through the trauma it was disinclined to stop for rest. No breathing exercises or yoga could curb the hyperactivity of Stiles’ mind, and so they both agreed to just power through and deal with the fallout as it made itself known. 

“I don’t really understand why I’m this way,” Stiles confessed to Derek, who’d taken to hanging out with him in the evenings after therapy. In week two, Stiles had already gotten used to it and expected the comfort the man was offering. Of all his friends, even Isaac, he really was the only one who seemed to get it. “It’s not like I don’t understand why people are supposed to rest and digest. I just … don’t.” 

“Maybe it’s got to do with your magic,” Derek said, half his attention on the show they were watching. “You’re like this with learning it, too.” He glanced meaningfully about the room, where Stiles had begun taping dozens of papers scribbled full of rune clusters for his dice. “You’ve already advanced to bind runes after only three weeks, and Peter tells me you’ve started borrowing books in Latin.” 

“I like to keep busy?” Stiles offered. He sank low in his desk chair. “Do you really think it’s magic, as opposed to simply being smart?” 

Derek snorted. “Stiles, I feel like the village idiot next to you. _Nobody_ learns Latin, never mind Ancient Latin, on a lark, and becomes good enough after a few weeks to actually use it. Even after missing a week of school and taking it easy for another one you’ve maintained perfect grades.” 

Stiles blushed. “You know I want to graduate early.” 

“It’s a good thing,” Derek told him. “Even if you decide against Peter’s bite, you can use the time to work further with your magic, and …” 

“And what?” Stiles prodded when the werewolf paused. “Derek, don’t go all mute on me.” 

Derek blinked. “And I thought you would want some time to open a little shop to sell your dice, maybe. Or your bracelets.” He rubbed his own bracelet almost reverently. “I know many weres who’d pay their weight in gold to have a talisman against wolfsbane poisoning.” 

Surprised, Stiles sat back up. “Okay, I might’ve thought about it once or twice, but opening a shop is … I don’t know if I actually want that responsibility. Small charms and stuff, sure, no problem, but we both know that there’s a demand for larger stuff, too. I don’t want to attract lunatics who think it’d be just rad to kidnap their very own magic human to make them invincible.” 

“Peter could help set it up,” Derek said. “He knows how to be careful, and he’d never share. Not without a very good reason.” 

“Ugh, I see more discussions ahead of us,” Stiles complained. “Things have been going so well lately.” 

Hearing that, Derek snorted again. “If you can call a screaming match about Peter paying your father’s hospital bill _going well_ , I fear for all of us.” 

“He dropped more than ten thousand dollars on us!” Stiles exclaimed. He then gesticulated towards the equally expensive new laptop Peter had sent over. “It feels _weird_!” 

“It’s normal,” Derek stressed. “He is the alpha of the pack, so he provides for the pack’s needs. Right now he’s the only one with reliable funds, so he takes care of everything. Besides, getting your father kidnapped and injured _was_ more or less directly his fault. If you don’t want him to feel guilty, you’d best keep your mouth shut about it.” 

“Is that why you’re trying to talk me into opening a shop?” Stiles demanded. “So I can start doing my part?” 

Derek shrugged. “It’d help, but it’d also keep you busy. Or do you really want to tell me that you won’t try out everything you learn about magic? What will you do with all the stuff? Hoard it somewhere, in the event that your enormous pack of four needs five-hundred healing dice at once one day?” 

“First of all, we’re not only four,” Stiles said. He reached out and kicked Derek’s foot, hard. “You’re pack, you moron, and of course I count Erica and Boyd, too. And there’ll be more, one day.” 

“I’m not pack,” Derek said plainly. 

“You fucking are.” Stiles kicked the man again, even harder this time. “You’re in _my_ pack. Better get used to it.” 

Instead of bristling at the presumption, Derek merely raised a challenging eyebrow. 

Stiles, little shit that he was, grabbed a handful of mountain ash he’d kept in a jar on his desk, and threw it at the werewolf. It trapped him on the bed and crept up to his neck, forming a black collar. “My. Pack.” 

Huffing, Derek rolled his eyes. “It takes more than a collar, you know.” 

“Not too much more,” Stiles sniped back. “I’m already feeding you three nights a week, and I’m becoming a pro at patching you lot up. If you’re worried about my finances, fine, I can do a stupid shop, too. But!” 

“But?” Derek asked, unable to move and still not looking too bothered about it. 

“But you’d better do your part, too, bucko. If I have to mass-produce magic stuff, you’ll take care of the shipping. _And_ the books. _And_ you can come up with more things the supernatural community might need, because if we gonna make a profit, I won’t dither around with experiments.” 

Derek stared at him for so long that Stiles began to fidget. 

“What? Too much responsibility?” he asked sulkily. 

“You’d let me help?” Derek asked suspiciously. “With the shop?” 

“Yeah? Where else would I need your help?” Stiles asked just as suspiciously. 

“I don’t know.” Derek tried to shrug but mostly failed within the bonds of the mountain ash. “Around the house. Occasional pest removal. That sort of thing.” 

“You can do that too, if there’s time,” Stiles replied. “Although cooking would be way better. My dad’s got momentum right now but as soon as he’s back to work full time, he’ll probably backslide into his old junk food habits.” 

“I can do that,” Derek said slowly. “But not always.” He straightened a little and his jaw firmed. “I’m better than that.” 

“I wonder who told you that you weren’t, you dumbass.” 

Derek’s eyes narrowed, although he wasn’t very threatening, tied down as he was. 

“If you believed that, it’s your own damn fault. Peter doesn’t want slackers, and I don’t want them, either, just so we’re clear. You’ll probably want to find a real job soon, anyway, before you die of boreout. Setting up a shop might take some time.” Stiles hopped up from the chair and recalled the mountain ash into his hand. “If that’s good for you, let’s shake on it, Sourwolf.” 

Derek sat up as well and gripped Stiles’ hand tightly. “Deal.” 

His eyes flashed electric blue and in response a weird heat travelled through Stiles, starting from where their hands touched and reaching into every part of him. There were also tingles all over his skin, like his whole body had been asleep and circulation was slowly beginning to work again. 

“Okay, that was strange,” Stiles commented, wiggling his fingers. “We’re not werewolf married or anything, are we?” 

“No. We forged a pack bond,” Derek explained. He looked vulnerable now, almost like he couldn’t believe it. “I didn’t think it’d work.” 

“Whatever, I’m your magic alpha now.” Stiles scrambled onto the bed next to him and aggressively cuddled up to Derek. “No take backs.” 

Sarcasm was dripping off every syllable as Derek retorted, “I wouldn’t dream of it.” 

“Oh my god, you’re fronting so fucking hard, you marshmallow!” Stiles grabbed a pillow and smacked Derek in the face with it. “You’re _happy_!” 

“And _you’re_ obnoxiously smug,” Derek growled, effortlessly ripping the pillow away and wrestling Stiles onto his back. “One order of ‘fetch’ and I’ll gut you.” 

“Ha, I don’t need no juiced up wolf for that,” Stiles countered, throwing out the mountain ash he still held in his left hand and willing it to grab all the pillows at once and pummel Derek with them. 

A fight escalated that had them both growling and howling with laughter. It only stopped when all of the pillows had been destroyed and the shredded foamy bits and feathers were littering every surface of Stiles’ room. 

“Fuck,” Stiles giggled. 

“Worth it,” Derek said smugly. 

_So worth it_ , Stiles agreed mentally. His grin was so broad it hurt his face, and he never wanted it to stop. 

oOo

“You did _what_?” 

Stiles fidgeted under his father’s unamused stare. “I, uh, forged a pack bond with Derek?” 

“Is that a question or a fact?” the sheriff asked, a tad more loudly than necessary. 

Peter by his side - and this was way weirder than Stiles had thought it would be - seemed to be completely unruffled. “It was bound to happen sooner or later, John.” 

“Was it?” Stiles’ father sighed and rubbed a hand over his mouth. “Explain it to me, because I certainly can’t understand on my own. To me it looks like Stiles badgered Derek into something _inadvisable_.” His pointed look made very clear what he meant. 

“Forget that very quickly, please. Your dear son has something you humans call an ‘alpha mentality’,” Peter said. “It’s not to be confused with an ‘alpha personality’, which can be horrid even on a good day.” 

“Where’s the difference?” John asked, his gimlet eye still on Derek, who sat quietly and inoffensively next to Stiles. 

“Having an alpha mentality just means that a person is unusually interested in managing the people around them. They do have a take charge personality, but they’re usually very contained in who they want to be in charge of,” Peter explained, smirking at Stiles. “That does sound like Stiles and his habit of collecting strays with potential, doesn’t it?” 

“Excuse you, I also happen to like these strays, regardless of their potential,” Stiles huffed. “Plus, it’s not like I made Derek agree to it. It was more like … a tease that went too far, only not. Plus plus, I can do it. He’d be here with us, instead of wherever the hell else and all alone. And I’ll give him work to do, he won’t be my kept guy, dad, thanks.” 

“Oh? Do tell,” Peter said mildly while the sheriff flushed with embarrassment. 

Stiles refused to bristle at the man’s amusement. “Derek said I could open a shop for magical gimmicks. Apparently there’s a need for it, and I could help with expenses and stuff and maybe save a little for college. He’ll keep our books and handle the shipping and whatever else might need to happen. It’s not great, I know that, but he offered so why not? He’s also my first creative consultant.” 

“Creative consultant,” Peter echoed, intrigued now. “In what manner?” 

“Product development,” Stiles said shortly. “I might ask Isaac, too, because he can draw. He could do labels and shit.” 

“You’ve got it all figured out, have you?” John asked sarcastically. 

“Not even. Setting up a secure shop outside of Etsy might get me into shady waters, but hey. As long as it’s helping good folks and the money’s also clean, I’m all for it. We’ll find a solution you can live with.” 

“Etsy’s not bad,” Derek said calmly. “There’s tons of new age stuff on there, no one would even bat an eye.” 

“Hell, Stiles,” the sheriff muttered. “I need a drink.” 

“Make it two,” Peter said as John got up, without taking his eyes away from Stiles and Derek. 

“I’ll need the whole bottle for this,” Stiles’ father said, setting down two glasses and pouring two very generous fingers. “Are you sure it’s nothing … oh god, sexual, Hale?” 

“Very sure,” Peter replied. He quirked a smile. “They wouldn’t be able to hide it, believe me. Although I’m a little insulted on Derek’s behalf that you’d even think he’d pull the same twisted games Kate Argent used on him.” 

“Peter,” Derek said in a low voice. 

“No, nephew, let’s put it out in the open for Stiles’ father. His concern is valid and in the interest of our continued friendship I’d like to put his worries to rest.” Peter picked up his glass and contemplated the contents. “His heterosexuality aside, Derek is an obnoxiously moral individual. Even if he were so inclined, he’d never act upon his interest while your son is still under the age of consent.” 

The sheriff grunted bitterly. “Stiles likes shiny things. And Derek is …” He waved at the werewolf. “Shiny. Even I can see that. My son’s powers of persuasion border on the unholy.” 

“Could you please not talk like I’m not in the room?” Derek asked, frowning. 

Stiles buried his hot face in his hands and groaned pitifully. “Yes, dad. If I promise to live chastely, will you _stop_?” 

“It’d likely be a lie,” Peter said and took a large gulp of his whisky. He smirked at Stiles. “Therefore, no.” 

“I’ll toast to that,” Stiles’ father mumbled and downed his whole glass at once. 

  
  


**End of chapter 33**


	34. Chapter 34

**Chapter 34**

The night after Derek and Stiles’ honestly rather ill-advised bonding, Peter knocked on Stiles’ bedroom door like a normal human being. 

“Oh, hey,” Stiles said, surprised. 

“Hey,” Peter replied with a half-smile. “Mind if I come in?” 

Stiles’ eyes promptly narrowed. “Since when are you asking?” 

“Your father let me in, and we did promise to keep our meetings as above board as possible.” Peter entered the room and wandered around for a minute, taking in all the drafts Stiles had taped to his walls. “I see that you and my nephew are taking the shop idea seriously.” He pointed at a design that was distinctly female. “Catering to the ladies in the supernatural community?” 

“Derek said that werewolf healing doesn’t make you automatically exempt from period cramps, so yeah.” Stiles shrugged. “Though he did make a fantastic point about healing meaning to actually point people in the right direction, rather than just putting a bandaid on it.” 

“I’m not sure I can follow,” Peter said, abandoning the design and settling down on Stiles’ bed. “Ignoring wolfsbane poisoning, werewolves and many other supernaturals are magically wired to be at peak condition.” 

“Yeah, you said that this is your default setting,” Stiles replied. “But you also said that supernaturals can still suffer from a crap diet, or toxins in the environment. You know, just general shit humans have come up with in the last couple of centuries. I read those books you left my dad so I know now that all that stuff can cause serious imbalances. It’d be much better to nudge you guys in the right direction than mess around with your actual cells and magic and stuff.” 

Peter smiled sharply. “Very good reasoning. You should definitely test your hypothesis. I offer myself as a guinea pig as soon as your wolf decides my healing is done.” 

“Speaking of which, how is the med pack working out for you?” Stiles asked. 

“It’s fine, but a little rough on the constitution,” Peter said. “I suspect it is mainly because the runes are on their own instead of being tempered by complementary runes. The flow of the magic the die generates isn’t as smooth as it probably could be.” 

“I thought as much.” Stiles handed Peter the writing pad he’d been scribbling on. “I’m on bind runes now, but they’re really complex. Like, you can just smush runes together and it’ll sort of work, but you can also make it beautiful, but then you’ll have to watch out for balancing ... and make sure they still work as intended at all. It’s insane.” 

“I believe I have several advanced works on runes in my library,” Peter said as he traced a bind rune looking like a stylized house. “I’ll digitize them next. Unlike the internet, the information in them is genuine and should help you along nicely.” 

“Cool. Oh, hey, I asked Isaac whether he’d like to design stuff for the shop. He said yeah, but he’s no good with logos, and I guess we should have one. I also have no idea what to call myself without giving away too much.” 

“Isaac’s in the same boat. His webcomic won’t be ready for a long while yet, and he’s uncertain whether he even wants to continue what he started,” Peter said. “His main concern is that he won’t be able to keep to a purely fictional story.” 

Stiles pondered this for a moment. “I can see that. He told me that drawing is his kind of therapy, so he’ll probably want to draw what he knows.” 

“Exactly so. It also works, so I’m rather unwilling to stop him,” Peter murmured. “The problem is the Statute of Secrecy, of course. It is unlikely that the Council will permit him to publicly chronicle his experiences.” 

“But … but there must be folks out there who could benefit from finding and reading such a thing.” Stiles accepted the writing pad back and dropped it onto the desk. “If it had been around when Scott was turned, I might’ve known how to help him better.” 

“You’d have to have read it first, and with the vastness of comics on offer that might not have been guaranteed.” Peter smiled at Stiles’ huff. “But on principle, I agree. It’d be an engaging way to educate our folks, and to hide hints on where to find help and support.” 

Stiles could hardly believe that such a thing didn’t already exist, and told Peter so. 

“There are websites, of course,” Peter said. “Not the one I’ve given you access to, but Council-approved sites to provide addresses and phone numbers for people in need. I’ll show you if you like.” 

“Sure, let’s see how your leaders deal with stuff.” Stiles crossed his arms and spun a little on his chair. “I still think Isaac should draw what he wants to draw. He doesn’t have to publish it, but if it helps him deal, why not? Also, it’d be fun to read our story like it didn’t really happen to us.” 

“Are you really angling for him to become our chronicler?” Peter chuckled. “We’d be the first pack to have a comic instead of a book.” 

“And that would be a bad thing why?” Stiles asked, grinning back. “Isaac’s totally gone on that drawing shtick, might as well let him do something useful with it. If he can’t publish and sell it, it’d still be valuable to _us_.” 

Peter’s entertained smile broadened. “I do like how easily you say ‘us’, Stiles.” 

“Shut up, Creeper Wolf.” Stiles flushed. “I meant to ask … are you really alright with me snapping up Derek?” 

Sobering, Peter patted the space next to him. “Come here, let’s discuss this like family.” 

“I don’t know, it’d bring me that much closer to your teeth,” Stiles joked feebly. Peter’s deadpan expression convinced him that he wasn’t in any immediate danger and so they both scooted up the bed until they leaned against the headboard, shoulders firmly touching. “I gather this is complicated?” 

Peter hummed softly. “In a way, but mostly it’s the perfect solution.” 

“Wait, really?” Stiles stared at the werewolf. “How? You wanted him in your pack, I know it.” 

Peter tipped his head back and looked at the ceiling. “I did … and I do have him in my pack, now, just with a buffer between us. There really couldn’t have been any other way. Derek would never have accepted me as his alpha.” 

“Because of Paige?” Stiles asked. 

“And Laura.” Peter sighed. “I still don’t feel guilty over it; she came to end me, she said as much when she confronted me in the preserve that night. Said that me being out and about as a feral omega was the last thing she and Derek needed … I wasn’t in my right mind anyway, but that made me snap.” 

A wounded sound made it out of Stils throat unbidden. “What a sucky thing to do to family.” 

“That’s the whole point. She was _family_ , and Derek will never be able to get past it, even for all of Laura’s failings. She tried, but she fucked up like the rest of us. Honestly, to this day I don’t know how I managed to overpower an alpha in her physical prime. Must’ve been pure dumb luck.” 

“And me acting as Derek’s alpha will allow you both to be together?” Stiles asked doubtfully. It was hard talking around the scratchiness in his throat, but he beat it into submission. “I’ll be in your pack soon, how is that not making him into your beta?” 

“It’s mostly semantics, but with magic, that makes all the difference,” Peter explained. “I fully accept that Derek won’t ever be able to trust me with his life. By choosing to accept your claim on him within my pack, it’ll enable us both to enjoy safety in numbers and shared financial burdens while at the same time having a relationship with each other that won’t demand more than we can give.” 

“Sounds cold to me,” Stiles mumbled, feeling bereft on Peter’s behalf, even if he also felt fiercely possessive of Derek. “I wish there was something I could do to make it go away.” 

“You’ve given us the next best thing,” Peter assured him. He lifted his arm and pulled Stiles against him. “Short of raising our family from the dead and making everything whole again, Derek and I can be happy with this arrangement. I’ll certainly work hard to make him feel welcome.” 

Stiles poked him half-heartedly. “And you really won’t try to go all alpha on us?” 

Peter’s melancholic smile turned into a smirk. “I might go all alpha on _you_ , sweetheart, but unless my dear nephew is endangering all of our lives and you’re not on hand to deal with it, I’ll behave. You have my word - and I’ll add the legalese to our agreement as soon as I get home.” 

“Thank you, Peter.” Stiles leaned further into the man and relaxed into the warmth he exuded. “For everything.” 

“Just doing my part,” Peter murmured and snuffled along Stiles’ hairline and into his new undercut, just coasting on Stiles’ smell and the closeness and rumbling with contentment. 

Stiles blushed a little, felt bad for a second, and then decided that snuggling with Peter felt too good to worry about trivial things like his father’s heart health when he had a perfectly fine, digitized copy of the healing book on his phone. Any minor coronaries surely could be healed in a jiffy. 

From the way Peter was keeping him close, he was of the same opinion. 

oOo

Another week later, the high school finally got a new principal. It was a tough-looking, tall woman of African-American descent who looked like she could snap Jackson in half if he so much as toed the line. 

Stiles instantly respected the hell out of her and was not a little intimidated when one of the first orders of Mrs. Amahle Hicks was to call him and several other students for a talk. 

“She’s scary,” Erica whispered as they were waiting before the office for their turn. “Let’s hope she’s not another nutjob like Allison’s grandpa.” 

Isaac on her other side shuffled his feet uncomfortably. “I wonder what she wants to see me for. My grades aren’t too bad.” 

“They aren’t but there’s still room for improvement,” Stiles replied. “She’ll probably just want to know how you’re doing, whether your situation has stabilized, and how you see yourself doing at graduation. I had that talk after my mom died, only with my dad doing most of the talking.” 

“So, just a check-up?” Isaac clarified. 

“I think so.” Stiles straightened when the secretary called Erica’s name. “Same goes for you, Catwoman. See you in a few.” 

Erica went and was only gone for ten minutes before she stepped back out. 

“All good?” Isaac asked. 

She nodded slowly. “Yes, I just …” 

“Stiles, it’s your turn now,” the secretary called. “Hurry up, the principal is on a tight schedule today.” 

“I’ll tell you all later,” Erica decided. She bussed a red, sticky kiss onto Isaac’s forehead, smiled at Stiles, and left for class. 

Sighing, Stiles trudged into the office and sank onto the hard visitor’s chair in front of Mrs. Hick’s desk. “Hello, ma’am.” 

“Hello, Mr. Stilinski,” the principal answered. She tapped his open file with a long, painted red fingernail. “I just wanted to get to know all of the students on the advanced track before I’ll get mired with the day-to-day business of leading a high school. Your grades are exemplary and several teachers have recommended transferring you to a school in Redding that offers classes for highly gifted children. Now, your personal situation obviously made this impossible, but have you given your advanced education some thought already?” 

“Well, beyond graduating early not really,” Stiles admitted, grateful that Mrs. Hicks wasn’t belabouring his _personal situation_ further. “I have a lot of different interests that sort of clash with each other. Plus, I dunno yet what I really want to do for a job, yet. That’s my biggest issue because studying isn’t really a problem. I’d get around to everything eventually.” 

“Yes, I can see how that’d be your main concern,” Mrs. Hicks agreed and smiled briefly. “It’s not my business to push you into one direction or the other. However, I do hope that you’ll apply for all the best colleges because I do think that you’d stand a very good chance of getting accepted. One does not have to be an outstanding athlete to receive scholarships and grants. If you continue to impress with your grades, I’d be more than willing to write a letter of recommendation and set you up with interviews at the colleges I have contacts with.” 

“Wow, thank you, ma’am,” Stiles blurted. “But, uhm, I’m not really the type to join school clubs … won’t that make me look bad?” 

Mrs. Hicks smiled again. “Ordinarily, proof of social or political engagement would be encouraged, but I think we can both agree that not everybody is suited to such. If you prefer to concentrate on your studies, I don’t see a problem with that. Your grades certainly support this assumption. Besides, you were a member of the lacrosse team for several years. You can hardly be blamed for leaving if all you ever got to do was bench warming.” 

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m developing a little crush on you,” Stiles confessed. He patted his chest. “Like, right here.” 

Laughing, Mrs. Hicks made a note in his file. “I’m flattered. Now on to the less pleasant topic of Allison Argent. It’s noted here that the whole family was served with a restraining order. This concerns me greatly, if I’m being at all honest, especially since the girl seems to be unwilling to leave you be.” 

“I’m sorry for the inconvenience,” Stiles said sincerely. “The family is a little …” 

“Extra?” Mrs. Hicks asked and raised an eyebrow. With her tall build and shortly cropped hair she looked like a mildly incredulous, dark-skinned Vulcan. 

Stiles blew out a breath. “Yes, that. I hope she’ll leave well enough alone, but I’m glad the guards are having an eye on her.” 

“Rest assured that I’ll talk with her as well, though not today. I’ll need more time for that conversation.” She made another note in the file. “Following that conversation, I’ll decide whether Miss Argent may remain at school. There seems to be a history of mental illness and assault in her family and it is too bad this only became known after trouble had already found your family. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” 

“It was very unfortunate, ma’am,” Stiles murmured, biting the inside of his cheek to refrain from saying more. “Maybe the school board will ask for better background checks from now on?” 

Mrs. Hicks’ droll look was telling. “Cheeky bugger. If you don’t have any other topics you’d like to go over right now, I’ll send you on to class. Get an appointment for just before the end of term so we can discuss your accelerated course load for your last year.” 

“Will do,” Stiles promised, getting to his feet. “Thanks, ma’am.” 

As he left, Isaac was called in. Setting up the appointment and getting a hall pass for Chemistry was the work of five minutes, which unfortunately meant that Stiles still had twenty minutes of Chemistry with Harris to suffer through. Since it was theory today, he couldn’t even rationalize skipping the class altogether, although he’d have loved to sit outside in the sun for a while. 

Shuffling along, Stiles longingly looked out of the side door. A second later he decided to just fuck it and shouldered his way through the door. 

_New principal is an Amazon. Skipping Chemistry to keep riding that high_ , he typed and hit sent. 

Peter answered less than a minute later. _You’re such a bad boy._

Snorting loudly, Stiles nearly spewed the mouthful of water he’d just sipped from his bottle. “Fucking hell, Peter.” 

The quiet sound of footsteps had him flail around. 

“Hello, Stiles.” 

Stiles’ mouth dropped open. “Allison!” He looked around, hoping beyond hope that a security guard would come upon them _right now_ and shoo her away. “I have to go. Bye.” 

Her placid expression didn’t change at all as the easily followed him on her long legs. She didn't even look hurried. “I just want a minute, Stiles.” 

“Tough, because you don’t get a minute,” Stiles retorted. He flailed his arms at her. “Go away.” 

He stumbled backwards and was just turning to run when her small hand gripped his arm like an iron vice. 

“Hey!” he protested, yanking futilely against her hold. 

Allison looked steadily at him, coolly ignoring Stiles’ huffing and puffing. “Take this with the Argent family’s best regards,” she said formally. “It won’t return the lives lost, but maybe it will help preserve lives in the future. Whenever the Hale pack is in need of assistance, an Argent will answer the call.” 

With that she pressed something small into Stiles’ captured hand, nodded once, and left as quickly and silently as she’d come. 

Alone again, Stiles needed several moments to calm his breathing and his jackhammering heart before he could find out what she’d forced on him. 

It was a black, nondescript USB stick. 

As if in a trance, Stiles dialled Peter. “Can you get me from school?” 

**End of chapter 34**


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, that was a long posting pause but unfortunately I can't shirk work, no matter how much I'd like to write full time (seriously). It's still a little rough; I'll go over it again later, when I'm a little less in a hurry. Cheers!

**Chapter 35**

It only took Peter a quarter of an hour to roll up in front of the high school, but those fifteen minutes felt like some of the longest in Stiles’ life. 

“Oh god, finally,” Stiles breathed at the sight of Peter’s BMW 5 Series 550i xDrive. The expensive car never failed to wake the little boy in him, and right now it also promised safety from prowling Argents. 

“What’s wrong, Stiles?” Peter asked through the opened window. “I can smell your anxiety from here.” 

“Not here.” Looking around, Stiles got into the werewolf’s poncy car. He nearly brained himself on the low ceiling and _definitely_ smacked his knees against the console. “Ow, what’s this, a Stilestrap? Why’s your car so cramped?” 

Peter showed his slightly pointed teeth as he grinned. “Get your Bambi limbs under control, darling, or I’ll show you _trapped_.” 

“Always with the threats,” Stiles sighed exaggeratedly, already feeling his shoulders droop a little with relief. “Can we go? Please? Preferably far away?” 

“As you wish.” With squealing tires Peter left the parking lot. “But I’d appreciate a reason why it had to be me, and not Derek.” 

Stiles showed him the USB stick. “Allison gave this to me. I didn’t think Derek would know what to do with it - or even want to.” 

Peter froze a little. “I see. Did she say something?” 

“Just some tripe about the Argent family sending their regards, and their regrets for the lost lives. She said the stuff on here might help save lives in the future. Oh, and that an Argent would come if we asked for help.” 

“That were her words?” 

“Yup. In all their creepy, formal glory.” Stiles slipped the stick into his jeans pocket, correctly surmising from Peter’s reaction that this was a Very Big Deal. “What do you think is on there?” 

“I couldn’t begin to guess,” Peter replied, oddly measured. “Call your father and the school and tell them you had to go home. I won’t have you mar your attendance record for this.” 

“Okay.” Stiles quickly called his father and explained the situation, which resulted in the sheriff telling him not to worry about contacting the school, because he’d deal with it himself. 

“I’ll also pay a visit to Chris Argent and find out what the hell he’s thinking, setting his daughter on you like this,” John said tightly. “I’ll take a couple of deputies with me, and if Derek could provide further backup, I’d be grateful.” 

“He’ll be there and lurk threateningly,” Stiles promised. “Thank you, dad.” He hung up just as Peter swerved onto the parking space in front of his house. “I’ll send a quick text to the others so they won’t worry.” 

“And I’ll make milkshakes.” Peter got out and slammed the door of his car. “Effing Argents.” 

Stiles followed the annoyed werewolf up to his apartment and couldn’t believe his eyes when Peter produced a whole box full of used electronics, several laptops among them. He hastily slammed the heavy metal door shut and engaged the lock. “You’re hoarding burner stuff?” 

“You don’t?” Peter shot back. He chose an outdated netbook, booted it up and made sure it wasn’t connected to the WLAN. “But milkshakes first. You’ll get root beer in yours, but I need something stronger.” 

He cursed all the way to the kitchen and manhandled the appliances a little roughly as he threw together beer, ice cream, and fruit. Stiles tried not to be intimidated by Peter’s anger, but it was hard when a potentially lethal predator was in a snit a mere twenty feet away. 

A few minutes later Peter set Stiles’ milkshake before him, already sipping on his own. 

“Bailey’s?” Stiles asked, trying not to laugh at Peter’s half-sulky and half-placated frown. “I’m not judging, man.” 

“It doesn’t do shit, but at least it tastes good,” Peter groused. “Shall we?” 

“Yeah, let’s get this over with.” Stiles plugged in the USB stick and waited with bated breath for the window to open up. 

“Well,” Peter said when the contents were visible. “I’d half expected next to nothing.”

“This looks like _everything_ ,” Stiles said, stunned. “I … is this really what it looks like?” 

“Proof of Kate and Gerard’s activities?” Peter clicked onto one clearly labelled file and opened it. “Yes, I dare say it is. Your father will be pleased.” 

Stiles spied a file named _Communiqué_. “Open this one. It’s an audio file.” 

Peter obliged and a second later a woman’s voice sounded from the netbook’s crappy loudspeakers. She had a thick, French accent, and it sounded like the woman in possession of that voice was elderly, and at least an occasional smoker. 

“ _Greetings, Alpha Hale,_

_This is Angelique Mirabelle Argent, Grand Matriarch of the Argent Hunting Family._

_Recent happenings in your corner of the world have brought to my attention the misdeeds of two of my family. For their depravity and cruelty I can only apologize - and pray that your family’s souls will be merciful when the ingenious members of my clan go to their eternal rest._

_We are informed of any and all investigations into Gerard and Kate’s doings and I personally vouch for the Argents’ future adherence to our codex. While we are not merciful we are fair, and we do not suffer bad seeds within our ranks._

_As a gesture of my clan’s profound disgust with the betrayers’ deeds I turn over to you every bit of information of Gerard, Kate, and their helpers we could collate. Whatever witness reports the U.S. American law enforcement requires, we will give._

_For every innocent life lost, we will pay the equivalent of one million euros in blood money. For abusing and injuring your surviving nephew, Derek Hale, we will pay the equivalent of five million euros. We cannot return the lost lives, but we would offer the young man as comfortable a life as possible going forward. If you prefer bearer bonds, gold, or precious stones instead of a currency, that can be arranged._

_Lastly, for abusing, hurting, and severely threatening several humans in your territory, one of them a minor, my family turns over the Argent Bestiary, for you to use as you see fit to protect the beings dwelling in your territory. With the Bestiary comes the promise of an Argent standing with you against legitimate threats for a hundred years._

_You will receive an Official Acknowledgement Of Obligation in due time._

_With sincere regrets,_

_Your obedient servant,_

_Angelique Mirabelle Argent_

_Grand Matriarch_

_39th Generation_ ”

“Holy shit,” Stiles breathed out when the recording stopped playing. “Holy. Shit.” 

Peter sank into the couch, his half empty glass close to slipping from his nerveless fingers. “Yes.” 

“That’s a lot of money,” Stiles said, still stunned. “Can they just fork over such a sum?” 

“They can, or they wouldn’t have offered.” Peter drained his milkshake and set the glass down. “I really need to teach you how things are supposed to work in our community.” 

“I take it’s not usually done like this?” Stiles placed a hand on Peter’s shoulder, just letting it rest there in support while the werewolf was getting his bearings. 

Peter was silent for a moment before replying, “Such an admission of guilt? By one of the oldest Hunting Families in the world? No, definitely not.” His eyes glowed red and a muscle in his jaw jumped. “They are trying to de-escalate … they finally must’ve caught the attention of the Council and are fearing for their status in the community. The Council has disowned and disbanded large and influential clans in the past.” 

“Why now? Where was the council six years ago?” Stiles demanded. He got to his feet and started to pace angrily. “Also, Gerard and his merry band of psychos have probably murdered their way halfway through the U.S. in the last thirty years, and I don’t buy for a minute that he was keeping to their codex then. The council must’ve known _something_.” 

“I intend to find out,” Peter said. His eyes were still red, but his posture lost a bit of tension as he reached out with one hand. “I do know that their communication is meant seriously, which is at least something.” 

“How can you tell?” Stiles asked. Still furious, he plopped back down and leaned against Peter’s side. The strong arm that immediately went around his shoulders was incredibly grounding and kept his mind from flying into a million directions at once. 

“The Grand Matriarch sent a high quality recording,” Peter explained. “The microphone she used was so sensitive that I could easily hear the pattern of her breathing and even the beat of her heart. It’s a courtesy not often given to weres - with this information it’s child’s play to detect falsehoods and information about her health … or track her down later if I so desired. She’s heavily protected at all times, of course, so taking her out would be nigh on impossible, but the point still stands.” 

“I have to ask, because it’s hard to imagine what punishment the council could dish out if offering millions of dollars of blood money and swearing fealty for a hundred years seems like the thing to do.” Stiles crossed his arms in front of his chest and jiggled his leg. “It makes me think of beheadings, which is super creepy.” 

Peter huffed out a little laugh. “You’re not so very far off. If I refuse the offer, the Council will be bound to dig into every hunt, every retaliation, and everyone’s involvement.” 

“Everyone’s?” Stiles repeated, eyebrows raising. 

“ _Everyone’s_ ,” Peter affirmed. “They will investigate with everything they have, too, not just the human way. There’d be magics involved even most supernaturals can only dream of, much less fight. It would be intensely invasive and unpleasant, and it’s very, very possible that even people not fully involved would lose their heads in punishment. Once started, the process will be seen through to the end; changing our mind afterwards would be out of the question.” 

“But … if the Council - and yes, I heard the capital letter, dude - is already in the know, why aren’t they doing it anyway?” Stiles asked. “The Argents sure deserve it.” 

“As much as it pains me to say it, I’m certain not all of them do,” Peter returned. In contrast do Stiles’ incredulity, he was actually calming down. “The European branch of them has a reputation of acting decisively, but not without their mandate. They might not be merciful as a whole, but there _are_ a few whispers about actually helping redeemable supernaturals find their way, though usually in some sort of intelligence gathering capacity in exchange for sparing their lives.” 

“I guess that’s okay,” Stiles allowed, though a little dubiously. “Us squishy humans appreciate the protection, if it’s done right. Still: if the Council’s magic would ferret out the guilty, why not just let them pack the whammy and get it over with?” 

“Because we would be judged as well,” Peter reminded him. “Every step leading up to this would be judged, and by now you know that I’m not a knight in shining armour by any stretch of the imagination. My dealings with Paige led to Derek’s involvement with Kate, and that alone could cost me my life.” 

“They wouldn’t _dare_ ,” Stiles said hotly. “If you didn’t lie to me, then what you tried was maybe misguided, but you neither led Paige on, nor did you force Derek to find solace in an older woman after Paige’s death. And also, who’s to say that Kate Argent wouldn’t have found another way to do what she did? She could’ve seduced someone else in your family.” 

“She might have succeeded. For all her faults, she was a handsome woman.” Peter smiled without humour. “It’s a moot point, in any case. I didn’t do enough to prevent it, Stiles. Worse, the Council’s magic would punish Derek as well for being so careless with our pack’s secrets. His age would hardly matter. Then there’s me killing Laura, and biting Scott, both also not points in my favour, no matter how mitigating the circumstances.” 

Stiles scowled at that. 

“It’s an ugly business all around, especially since _all_ the findings would be archived for posterity so future generations may learn from our mistakes.” Peter’s mouth twitched in an expression that was impossible to parse. “Magic would take the words right out of us and arrange them in a manner most suited for consumption. I’ve seen it exactly once and I couldn’t stop shaking.” 

“I can’t imagine it,” Stiles confessed, reluctantly letting go of his anger. “It’d be uncool to have a book written about us, but people actually would have to want to read it, won’t they? Maybe pilgrimaging to some dusty archive is not for everyone.” 

“Oh, you’d be surprised … or not. The archive is situated in Rome, which is, of course, a fantastic holiday destination. Visiting the archives is the thing to do for many travellers. And it’s not just books, either.” 

“No? Have they advanced to electronic devices yet?” Stiles needled. 

“You jest, but yes. They are definitely going with the times, but they’re also going with what each visitor responds best to,” Peter replied haughtily. 

Stiles smirked. “What was your sweet spot, oh alpha mine?” 

“Wouldn’t you like to find out?” Peter purred, showing his fangs when Stiles flushed hotly in response. Instead of teasing the teen further, however, he simply continued, “When I was allowed into the reading room, the information was presented like a huge, magical chart, the humble origins of the conflict right before me and the following decisions and reactions reaching up and branching out like tree branches clamoring for the skies.” Peter imitated the growth by raising his arm and splaying his fingers. “It was almost completely dark - there were only some sconces on the walls - and words were glowing gold all around me. They vibrated with power and seeped right into my soul. It was eerie.” 

Stiles had a hard time believing that, so he blurted out the next best thing on his mind. “Almost sounds like a menacing planetary.” 

“Sort of, now that you mention it. It looked a lot like your boards, too, with strings connecting events and little notes bursting into existence when I looked more closely at something. They were vanishing again when I moved on …” Peter waved his hand. “Just like dust in the wind. Being surrounded by so much judgemental magic made me feel very small and weak. It was certainly educational, in more ways than one, but it’s not an experience I’d want to repeat.” 

“Okay, I get that.” Stiles grimaced, slumping further against Peter. “Does that mean you’ll accept the offer?” 

“The Grand Matriarch was actually generous, and we can always use more money,” Peter replied. “I’m not interested in punishing Derek or myself needlessly; we have both suffered enough.” 

“Yeah, you have,” Stiles agreed at once. 

“We’ll go forward from here,” Peter said firmly. “We’ll build something new, do the best we can, and live a life my family would’ve been proud of.” 

“It helps that the mundane law enforcement will probably come down pretty hard on the Argents anyway,” Stiles added after a moment’s thought. “As soon as my dad gets this data in his hands, it’ll be distributed to the alphabet soup and they’ll run with it as far as they can.” 

“Yes, they will, and the American branch of the Argents probably won’t recover from such a hit. The Grand Matriarch knows when to cut her losses, and it’ll be good to have them as allies in an emergency.” Peter relaxed fully against the couch and pulled Stiles with him. “You’re not shocked about my pragmatism.” 

Stiles shrugged with one shoulder. “I’d do the same. Getting revenge via Council just doesn’t seem worth the cost to you and Derek. Plus, Kate and Gerard are already very dead, so they’re not getting any more punished for what they did to your family, anyway.” 

“Well, there is always at least one necromancer serving as Council member,” Peter smiled sharply. “Questioning the dead is rather common in a Grand Inquisition, you know. Who knows what a determined magic user can do to a soul? About _that_ there aren’t many rumours, which means that it’s probably very, very bad.” 

“I don’t want to find out,” Stiles muttered, suppressing a shiver and pressing even further against Peter. They just sat there for a while, trying to get their heads around the Argents’ offer. At last, Stiles said, almost meekly, “Do you think that’s why Mr. Argent was at my house the other day? To give us the USB stick?” 

Peter hummed softly. “Perhaps. But if he was, he went about it in a very confrontational manner. He could’ve put it in your letterbox instead of scaring you, and having his spawn stalk you all over the school wasn’t really a gesture of remorse either, was it?” 

“Nope, definitely not. What’s the etiquette on that, if the boss lady said to grovel and someone decides not to?” 

“Allison did, in the end,” Peter answered, “and there’s not a thing we need to do about dear Chris. The Grand Matriarch knows exactly how long it has taken Allison to get her communiqué into your hands and will act accordingly.” 

“Do we have to do something? Send an answer or the like?” Stiles wondered. 

“Only after the Official Acknowledgement Of Obligation has been delivered. The Grand Matriarch will have included a way for us to contact her family in there. Establishing a working treaty will require regular communication, and I’ll have to tell them my preferred method of compensation.” 

“Do you know what it’ll be?” Stiles asked. “Maybe gold? Or diamonds?” 

“My family was very fond of bearer bonds,” Peter said, “and I’ll keep up the tradition, but diversifying our funds is just common sense. It won’t do to have everything just lying around in one spot. It’d only need one well-executed raid to devastate us.” 

“I guess that’s one talk for all of you, then.” Stiles longingly eyed his milkshake glass. “Hey, do you think I’ll be able to teleport stuff one day?” 

Peter snorted and pushed Stiles upright. “Personally, yes. Whether that’d be a good thing for humanity is another question.” 

“Hey, not cool,” Stiles complained. He picked up the milkshake and took a long drink. “I’m not that much of a disaster.” 

Peter’s answering smile was so condescending that Stiles huffed, grabbed a handful of mountain ash from his jeans pocket, and flung it at the surprised werewolf. For just one second, Peter was restrained on the couch … and then the mountain ash began to wiggle and slither, moving up and onto Peter’s skin, where it formed pretty lines in restless formations and was very clearly not doing its job any longer. 

“Fuck me sideways, that’s new,” Stiles exclaimed, staring. 

“Tempting,” Peter replied absently, touching the moving mountain ash and watching it travel from his forearm over his fingers and around his wrist. “But we’ve got some work to do first, hm?” 

Stiles was so flabbergasted that he forgot to feel embarrassed about Peter’s blasé flirting. 

**End of chapter 35**


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ten whole days without posting ... I hate when that happens. And I'm sorry! There are some things on my mind right now which make concentrating on fanfic difficult, but I'll of course continue writing and posting. If there are glaring errors somewhere, just let me know and I'll fix them. 
> 
> Cheers, and stay safe!

**Chapter 36**

“And it just crawled all over him?” Isaac asked. He was lounging on Stiles’ bed and contemplating colours for the first of many health cards Stiles had planned. At Stiles’ nod, he made a surprised sound. “Huh, that’s really weird. I mean, it can’t be McCall’s wolf, but if it’s your magic, it really has a mind of its own.” A grin slowly spread over his face. “Or maybe not.” 

“Dude, _no_. Definitely not.” Stiles hastily turned around to hide his flaming face. “When can you be done with the card?” 

Isaac mercifully decided to stop his teasing. “I’ll use coloured pencils, so maybe an hour? Does it have to be ready tonight?” 

“Not really, I just want a distraction,” Stiles admitted. “I’m always nervous when Peter’s alone with Derek and my dad.” 

“They’re welcome to their war council,” Isaac said with a snort and finally chose a pencil. “I’m only really interested in the results.” 

“Well, it’s probably safe to say that you’ll have a substantial college fund now.” Stiles listlessly scrolled through the Argent Bestiarium. “You’re gonna do art, right?” 

The soft scratching of the pencil lead on paper was the only sound for a minute. Then, Isaac said, “I guess so. It’s still so new ... that I’ll be able to do anything at all, I mean. My dad told me I’d be working at the cemetery, period.” 

“Since he’s a complete asshole, we won’t ever speak of it again,” Stiles replied. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do.” 

“Is this about your talk with the new principal?” Isaac asked. “She doesn’t want to hold you back, does she?” 

“No, it’s the opposite, actually.” Stiles turned back around, linking his arms behind his head and following the stroke of Isaac’s green pencil with his eyes. “I told her that I’ll probably have a problem choosing which masters to do first.” 

“You still have time,” Isaac said calmly. “You could write a list with the things you wanna do and then talk about it with everyone. Might be that one of them is more useful than the others when it’s time to go to college, and the rest will just follow.” 

Stiles stared at him. “When did you get so wise?” 

Isaac threw a balled up piece of paper at him. “Shut it. You’re stressing yourself out over nothing. You have a year yet, and half a year of doing whatever you want before any of this becomes relevant.” 

“Thinking and stressing is what I do,” Stiles muttered mulishly. “Sue me.” 

“Believe me, sometimes I wish I could.” Isaac put the pencil down and picked up another. “I’ll go with turquoise for this one, yeah? We better start mild after the thing with the red die.” 

“Sure,” Stiles agreed, still a little huffy. 

“Stiles.” Isaac stopped his colouring and looked up. “Look, I know it’s kind of shitty that they went to Peter’s for their talk, but they’ll tell you what they’ve come up with. Okay? They just didn’t want to waste our time with boring nitpicking.” 

“I’m wasting my time right now with fretting,” Stiles countered. “I can’t concentrate, even though this Bestiary is literally the stuff of legends.” 

“Okay,” Isaac said simply. He got up, shoved Stiles’ chair, with Stiles on it, aside, and opened Skype on his laptop. 

“What are you doing?” Stiles asked, perplexed. 

“Giving you what you need.” Isaac huffed when the call got accepted. Without even a hello he said, “I told you that he’d go insane, Peter.” 

Peter’s slightly weirdly angled face lightened up with delight. “So you did.” 

“You can add the money to my account,” Isaac said, slanting a little smirk at Stiles. “See you later.” 

“Wha-” Stiles looked from the retreating werewolf to Peter. “You _bet_ on me?” 

“I didn’t,” Derek said gruffly with endearing earnestness. “Your dad, however …” 

“Traitor,” John said mildly. “And it was only five dollars, kid. Thanks for financing next week’s cheat lunch.” 

Peter’s smile widened at Stiles’ huff. “I did bet on your ability to remain uninvolved for one evening, Stiles. Your willpower is one of the things that attracted me to you, after all. But I suppose I’ve learned my lesson when it comes to pack dealings.” 

Stiles flushed. “Well, I’m sorry for worrying, you jerk.” 

“I do not begrudge Isaac his gas money,” Peter said, still looking inordinately pleased. “We shall just leave Skype active then, yes?” 

“You better,” Stiles muttered, ignoring his father’s smirk. “I’ll even mute my connection. I just wanna listen.” 

Peter mouthed a cheeky, “Kinky” at Stiles before adjusting the angle of the laptop camera for a better view and then settling down again at the breakfast bar, where bottles of craft beer and several bowls of nibbles were waiting. He was disconcertingly attractive in his jeans and plum coloured henley, but adding to his physical prettiness was that aura of confidence and power that never failed to make Stiles sit up and take notice. 

Also, Peter was finally looking much better. There was colour in his skin again and his movements were far smoother than even a week ago. Stiles privately gave him another two weeks to heal completely. Derek, by the looks of it, was already there and so handsome for it that it bordered on the ridiculous. 

Isaac cleared his throat, interrupting Stiles’ staring. 

“Right, back to the Bestiary,” Stiles sighed. 

As promised, he tapped the mute button. It soothed him somewhat that Peter easily picked up the talk again with no apparent desire to leave things out, now that the rest of his small pack was listening in. In fact, not even Stiles’ father questioned this decision, which could only mean that they’d discussed it - him - beforehand and had decided to let him in instead of trying to protect his delicate sensibilities if he persisted. 

“You know, I told Peter that it was dumb to try and have this talk without you,” Isaac said, his attention firmly on the little picture he was colouring. “I dunno if it was a test or something.” He paused, his brow furrowing a little. “And if it was, whether you passed or failed.” 

“I choose pass, thanks,” Stiles replied. He spied the picture of something that disconcertingly looked like a hippogriff, only with horns on its head and a barbed tail, and stopped his scrolling. “Holy mother of fuck, our territory needs wards, ASAP. We do not want mountain hippogriffs here, and no, not having any mountains in the area won’t deter them. Such is globalisation, apparently.” 

“I honestly don’t want to know,” Isaac declared. He glared at Stiles. “Seriously. Keep that shit to yourself if it isn’t actively a problem. I’ve got enough nightmares already.” 

Despite himself, Stiles laughed. Isaac’s exasperated tone was just tickling his funny bone. “Fine. But we do need wards. I want to try out intent-based stuff, that’d keep away people and things that want to kill us outright.” 

“Those are the hardest kind of ward to set up,” Isaac retorted. He dropped the green pencil and chose a blue one. Even from four feet away, the colours were vibrant against the dark grey paper Isaac had chosen. “Peter told me so.” 

“He’s probably right, but just how annoying is it to add layers with every new threat that we discover?” Stiles argued. “I’d have to do that for each _person_ , which includes magical beings who’re sentient and sapient enough to use names if I don’t want to be racist and ban all of them. Right now I’m still inclined to believe the good in people. Mostly.” 

“Hah, that’s a good one.” 

Stiles frowned. “I actually mean that.” 

“Yeah, and that’s what’s so funny,” Isaac said, not bothering to react at Stiles’ dubious eyebrow twitch. “Seriously, forget it right now. The way I see it, most supernaturals are utter assholes and we should cherry pick the few good ones instead of giving out chances to dumb bastards willy-nilly.” 

“Okay, that’d make warding a lot easier for the moment, but intent-based wards would still be the best solution in the long-term,” Stiles replied. “Not only would it save me from having to renew that shit every couple of months, they’d also be much stronger. And of course far more flexible.” 

“I’m all for it, but Peter said that we’d need a strong focal object to anchor the magic,” Isaac said. At Stiles expectant silence, he sighed. “He talks a lot about magic, now that you’re so interested in it. But some things just seem too hard, like finding such an object.” 

“Why? What would we need?” Stiles pressed. “Is it a diamond the size of his head? Because if it is, that might be difficult, but the Argents did drop several millions of dollars on us. Cost shouldn’t be a problem.” 

“Funnily enough, a diamond is apparently too fragile,” Isaac said, picking yet another pencil. “They burn like nobody’s business, so they’re out.” 

“Then what do we need to make it happen?” Stiles turned away from the laptop screen to give Isaac his full attention. “Moon stone? Fossilized opal? Bone of a wooly mammoth?” 

Isaac snorted. “None of those. Apparently some sort of magical quartz would be the best of the best, but according to Peter it’s super hard to come by. Whatever’s made its way topside has been sold or traded centuries ago. One of the largest quartz pieces is protecting the archive in Rome, actually.” 

Stiles needed a moment to digest this. “Bro, you got all this just by osmosis? I’m so envious right now! You wanna trade homes for a while?” 

“God, I want to,” Isaac murmured. He looked up from his work. “Can we ask? If your dad agrees, Peter might allow it.” 

“Oh, you bet I will,” Stiles said, grabbing his phone and shooting his father a message. “And done.” He pointed a finger at Isaac. “This trickle-feeding me information needs to stop.” 

“Absolutely,” Isaac agreed. “It’s interesting enough, but I’m tired of playing messenger pigeon. Half the time I’m feeling like an idiot, talking about magic.” He shrugged at Stiles’ wounded protest. “We’ve known that it exists - and that it works for you - for maybe two months. That’s too short for me not to feel silly talking about it as if it were real. Even if it actually _is_ real.” 

Stiles slumped a little in his chair. “Fine, I get what you mean. Although it doesn’t feel silly to _me_. More like, wow, finally there’s something that feels right to me, and that I’m good at.” 

“You’re good at school, what are you going on about?” Isaac asked, taken aback. 

“I know, I know, but it isn’t the same. It wasn’t ... enough. Doing this stuff is just …” Stiles stopped, trying to order his jumbled thoughts. “It makes my mind stop, most nights. I can concentrate on this, and I can sleep when I’m done. I dunno if you can imagine how it feels if you can’t stop thinking about fifty things at once. Like, ever. But with this, I can. I feel _normal_ , even if this stuff is so far from normal that it isn’t even funny.” 

In the ensuing silence they could both hear Stiles’ dad asking about the probability of the Council ever coming to Beacon Hills. 

“Only if the Argents very visibly overstep,” was Peter’s answer. “Or …” 

“Or?” Derek asked, notably annoyed at Peter’s dramatics. 

Peter’s posture never changed, didn’t even tense, when he said, “Or if something, or someone, else else draws their eye to us. It might happen, if our bad luck holds.” 

Isaac’s mouth dropped open, same as Stiles’. They stared at each other, then at the screen, and then back at each other. 

“Dude,” Stiles said. He whirled around, hit the mute button to activate the microphone and cried again, “Dude!” 

At Peter’s loft, two of the three men jumped to their feet, half empty bottles clattering to the floor and spilling their contents. 

“Stiles!” the sheriff shouted. “Could you _not_?” 

“Sorry, dad, but you heard Peter! They might come after him!” Stiles cried. “We haven’t gotten through all this bullcrap just for them to snatch him off the street, or whatever they do with people who _draw their eye_!” 

“Right now they’re not inclined to invest their time in us,” Peter said calmly. He tipped his bottle at the screen in a toast to Stiles and took a swig of his beer. “As I said, we’ll await the Argents’ declaration, take their money, and quietly go about our business. If all goes well, we won’t ever attract their attention … or at least not until we’re ready.” 

“You realize that you’ve just jinxed it, don’t you?” Stiles’ father asked, voice deadpan. “I’m sorry, Hale, but you’ve ruined the mood for tonight. I’ll get back home and try to wrangle my son before he’s fretting himself into a panic.” 

“Hey, I’m not panicking,” Stiles pouted. “My concern is valid after everything that’s happened.” 

“You’re both morons,” Derek said. He glowered at Peter. “What did you tell us that for if it’s not relevant to us right now?” 

“Because the possibility is still there,” Peter returned evenly. “It’d be _foolish_ not to say anything in our situation. You know the stories as well as I do - how the Council is our world’s boogeyman just as much as it is our highest court of law. They must have stirred for the Grand Matriarch to offer such an enormous settlement; there’s really no telling if that’ll satisfy them.” 

“Wait, what?” Stiles demanded. “I thought they would be satisfied with the Argents’ blood money!” 

Peter smiled crookedly. “They _should_ be, yes. However, certain members can be curious, and having the attention of one of the most powerful beings in the world on you is rarely a good thing. I’m not proposing constant vigilance, that’s just a recipe for exhaustion and disaster, but it never hurts to be _aware_ of our surroundings. That counts double for the humans in our pack.” 

“Thanks for the heads up,” the sheriff sighed. “And the new nightmares I’m probably going to have.” 

“I can make you a dreamcatcher, daddio,” Stiles said promptly. “Anyone else need one?” 

It was horrifying and gratifying all at once when Peter, Derek, and Isaac all raised their hands. 

Determined not to make them feel any worse about it than they probably already did, Stiles just hummed and made a note on his writing pad. Meanwhile, the sheriff took his leave of the Hales, and Derek eyed Peter strangely for a moment before abruptly turning and vanishing from the screen. 

“Harsh,” Stiles sighed, leaning his head in his hand and sharing a commiserating look with Peter. “Night, Creeper Wolf.” 

“Goodnight, Stiles,” Peter returned and ended the call. 

Disappointed that he had more or less caused the inglorious ending of tonight’s talk, Stiles closed Skype and buried his head in his folded arms. “You think magic could help with a personality transplant?” he muttered. “I need to get rid of my obsessive clinginess.” 

Isaac didn’t sound particularly bothered as he said, “It probably can. Peter would probably be furious if you did that, though. He rather likes how you fuss over him.” 

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better,” Stiles grumbled. 

“Nah, I’m really not. Your obsessive clinginess made Derek trust you, so it can’t be that unattractive to a werewolf.” 

Stiles snorted. “ _You’re_ a werewolf. Is that attractive to you?” 

“Not sure, but then I’m very new at this whole werewolf thing.” Isaac lobbed another wad of crumpled paper at Stiles. “You wanna look? I think I’m done.” 

Eager to let himself be distracted, Stiles went over to the bed and flopped down next to Isaac. The picture the other boy had drawn was only the size of a trading card, but for their purposes it was definitely large enough. 

“I like the colours,” Stiles said after a moment of intense perusal. “And that it’s not too complicated. I want simple pics for simple magics, so people can recognize our stuff quickly.” 

“It’s not too boring?” Isaac said, biting his lower lip. “It lacks a little something, doesn’t it?” 

“Actually, no.” Stiles pointed to the upper right corner of the little picture. “I’ll paint my rune there. For the first couple of customers I can get away with doing it by hand, but if our shop takes off, we’ll have to find a way to print it on, maybe with metallic colour or something.” 

“Gold for the runes would be pretty cool,” Isaac admitted. He released a soft breath and relaxed. “They could always be gold, since the cards will already have different colours to set them apart.” 

“Sounds good, so that’s settled.” Stiles clapped Isaac’s shoulder and left his arm around the teen. “Good work, man! Thanks!” 

Pleased, Isaac put the drawing into a folder to keep it safe and showed Stiles a couple of sketches for future projects and made a couple more with Stiles’ input. 

Half an hour later, Stiles’ father knocked on the open door to announce his return. “Hey kiddos, you alright?” 

“We’re just peachy, sir,” Isaac said, beginning to pack up his things. “I gotta go now, Derek’s picking me up.” He faced Stiles, who found it hard to mask his disappointment. “I’ll see you on Monday, and I’ll have at least one new pic for you.” 

“Fine,” Stiles sighed. “I just thought we could have a sleepover.” 

“I asked Peter to call him home,” the sheriff confessed. “I wanted to talk to you for a moment, and I don’t think it can wait.” 

“It’s not a big deal,” Isaac assured Stiles. He leaned in for a hug and a little cheek rub. “Have your talk and then we’ll see about hanging out. Bye.” 

He left and Stiles’ father sat down on the bed. 

“It’s not a punishment,” the sheriff said, rubbing his hand over the back of Stiles’ neck in a gesture that had calmed Stiles since he’d been a baby. “But there are a few things we need to settle.” 

“Why?” Stiles asked, worried. “What’s wrong?” 

His father’s face was grave, but also tender. “I’m so sorry that your mother can’t be here to share this moment. It’ll mortify us both, of that I’m certain, and she’d have made it so much better.” 

“Oh god, dad, it’s not the sex talk, is it?” Stiles groaned. “I already had the sex talk! Several times! We can just cross this off your list _right now_ and forget about it. Yeah? Please?” 

John’s answering look was as dry as the Sahara desert. “It’s not a sex talk, so calm down. It is, however, the squishy feelings talk, which, in my humble opinion, is infinitely worse.” 

“Why?” Stiles squawked. “I don’t have squishy feelings, except for Lydia, and we both know that nothing’s ever gonna happen there!” 

“For someone so smart you can be incredibly oblivious,” his father retorted. “Right now I’m not so much worried about you, in any case. I’m worried about Hale’s attachment to you.” 

“What?” Stiles stared at the man. “I thought you knew what the thing with Derek was about.” 

The sheriff looked at Stiles like he was being wilfully ignorant. “I’m not talking about Derek, kid. I’m talking about _Peter_.” 

There were no words to correctly articulate his horror at the accusation. All Stiles had were croaked denials, and his father was clearly not buying them. 

“I wasn’t born yesterday,” John said calmly. “I recognize attraction when I see it, and unfortunately yours doesn’t seem to be as unrequited as I’d hoped.” 

“God, dad,” Stiles pleaded. “Please stop. I’m begging you.” 

“I can’t. The way you worried about Hale as soon as he mentioned the Council coming here was telling, and you better believe that I’m not the only one who noticed.” The sheriff sighed even as he tightened his grip on Stiles’ nape a little. “It’s not that I don’t think that you could like boys, Stiles. If you do, that’s just fine. Heck, after crushing on Lydia for so long Hale wouldn’t even be a step-down, looks-wise. But I’m worried about the age thing, and his shady character, and the fact that he’s a werewolf with a very unfortunate past and an alarming number of mortal enemies.” 

“Dad …” 

“No, let me get this out in the open before something happens we can’t recover from.” Stiles’ father cleared his throat. “You know my reservations, but at least the age thing will fall by the wayside as soon as you turn eighteen. My other reservations won’t, so I want you to think long and hard about what you’re going to do with that man, Stiles.” 

“I’m not gonna do anything with him,” Stiles forced out. “I know that I’m too young, and do you think I’m _okay_ with maybe being attracted to a fucking murderer?” 

“Well, there are some mitigating circumstances,” the sheriff allowed, albeit reluctantly. “But he’s still killed, and he’s still a shady fucker. Not things I want to see in my kid’s … partner.” 

“At least he’s not boring,” Stiles muttered mulishly. “Plus, he’ll probably never, ever be anything even remotely like my _partner_ , which is at least in part thanks to this completely horrifying talk. I think my libido just died, dad.” 

“I wish I were so lucky.” John ruffled Stiles’ hair. “Stiles, when Peter told us about the Council, he didn’t do it to get some sympathy or extra bodyguards for himself. He’s worried about _you_.” 

“That doesn’t mean he has the hots for me,” Stiles protested, even if the thought was appealing, in a scary sort of way. “He’s worried because I’m human and therefore breakable, which is actually nice. Scott never was all that concerned with anyone’s safety.” 

“Do you really think Hale wouldn’t just say so if that were all?” The sheriff grimaced. “I really don’t want to encourage you, or worse, him, but with Scott’s adjudication approaching, we need to keep things very clean. Hale’s already been in the tabloids for hanging out with underage teenagers, even if the press has backpedalled since Jackson’s father sent them a strongly worded letter. That stuff stays with people, unfortunately.” 

“Okay, I get that,” Stiles agreed, still out of sorts about the sudden left turn the night had taken. “No shenanigans for the Stiles as long as Scott is a problem.” 

“No underage shenanigans with _Peter_ ,” his father clarified and smiled crookedly. “I’m not a complete monster.” 

Stiles raised his uncomfortably flushed face. “As if anyone my age is even interested in me. At the rate I’m not being flirted with, I’ll _return_ from college a virgin. So why don’t we just finish this supremely embarrassing conversation and pretend it never happened?” 

“Yes,” the sheriff agreed promptly and rose from the bed. “I’ve said my piece and I know that you’ll be responsible ... ish, at least. Sleep well, kid.” 

“Ha-ha, very funny,” Stiles called after his father’s retreating back. 

The door to his room closed and Stiles rolled onto his back and starfished on it. Heat was rising from the skin of his face, neck, and hands. But far worse was the heat in his mind. _Why_ did his dad have to tell him this? Why give his already overactive brain something like _this_ to tear apart?! 

Groaning, Stiles cursed his whole existence and then resigned himself to yet another all nighter, this time to contemplate his dad’s words to death so he’d have some measure of peace going forward. 

**End of chapter 36**


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I wrote at the beginning of this story that it wouldn't get too long? 
> 
> Yeah, I didn't either. 
> 
> Now I feel like an idiot ... I'll never learn to keep my mouth shut about predicted length.

**Chapter 37**

All through next week, Stiles was distracted. While he did his best to be mentally present in school, especially when he was spending time with his friends, it was _hard_ to shove his father’s observations aside. Not even the news that the Argents had left town overnight, pending legal action notwithstanding, could take Stiles’ mind off the matter. 

Since he was still on medical leave, Stiles spent the time Isaac was taking part in the martial arts lessons sitting at the side of the dojo and agonizing over every text he received from, or sent to, Peter. 

“You know that this is getting ridiculous,” Isaac complained on Thursday after his training was finished. “Why won’t you just tell me what your dad wanted on Saturday?” 

“Because it’s utterly dumb,” Stiles said tightly. “It’s just something I have to deal with because talking about it won’t change a single thing. I tried for four days so I know what I’m talking about.” 

“Then your dad was just being a dick?” Isaac asked hesitantly. He finished stuffing his bag between his feet and turned a little in the passenger seat to get a good look at Stiles. 

“Basically, but also not really.” Stiles blew out a breath and restlessly drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “It was just something about not harming the case against Scott, so I understand where he’s coming from. It still makes me mad, because I think he’s imagining things.” 

“It sounds slightly insane without any context, but I think I know what this is about.” Isaac sank into the seat and pulled out the seat belt to buckle himself in. “He clued in on Peter’s, er, fascination with you, didn’t he?” 

Stiles stared out the window for a long moment. “Yeah,” he finally said, “and it was excruciating. Like he actually expects me to be so dumb and hit on Peter when we all know just how improbable him responding positively to it would be. I’m not that much of a masochist.” 

“Awkward,” Isaac muttered. “And also mean, making you aware of that shit.” 

“Right? Because I _wasn’t_ aware!” Stiles exclaimed, throwing his hands up. “Imagine that there actually were something there … that stupid talk would’ve totally ruined it. Like, the whole getting closer thing would be completely blown. And what’s a love story without the anticipation and the nerves?” 

Isaac shrugged, although he smiled a little too. “Yeah, I guess that’d make the whole thing sorta boring.” He rubbed Stiles’ shoulder comfortingly. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. Parental reality checks are the worst, even if you weren’t planning on doing anything about what they’re checking.” 

Now that it was out in the open, the pressure was actually leaving Stiles’ body in a slow but steady stream. 

_Who knew that talking to a friend would’ve actually helped?_ , he mused. _I guess that just goes to show how unhelpful trying to talk to Scott sometimes was. Especially after he got turned._

“But I gotta ask ... you really weren’t trying to flirt with Peter?” Isaac asked, disturbing Stiles’ chagrined thoughts. “Sometimes I wasn’t so sure.” 

Stiles coloured a little. “Well, not at first, what with him being half-feral and stuff. But dude, he’s _hot_. And a lot older than us so I kinda thought it was safe after a while, you know? Like, hey, there’s a dude you can practice your pitiful wiles on when he’s in a good mood. Just for kicks, though; despite my dad’s talk I’m not in the habit of seriously pursuing older people.” 

“I know,” Isaac assured him. “Man, what a weird situation. Just think what Erica would say if she knew. She’d laugh her head off.” 

“And then flirt the crap out of Peter,” Stiles added, grinning a little at the thought. “She’d go through with it, too, given half a chance.” 

“Yeah, which is kind of skeevy, but I guess with her sickness she just wants to enjoy herself.” Isaac’s stomach growled loudly. “Ow, time to feed the beast. Are we still going to the diner, or do you wanna go home?” 

“Are you crazy? My dad’s still looking at me weirdly, we’re staying out for as long as possible,” Stiles retorted. He smiled gratefully at the other boy. “Thanks for listening, man. I should’ve known that you’d understand.” 

“Maybe I won’t, sometimes, but I’ll always try,” Isaac told him quietly. “We’re pack, and we’re friends. That doesn’t change just because you find Peter aesthetically pleasing. Everybody does, after all, even the lesbians that are running his favourite coffee shop.” 

The last of the tension left Stiles’ guts and he took a deep breath before starting the jeep. “Yeah, they totally do. I saw Gemma slip him her number way back when.” 

As a thank-you for his patience, Stiles treated Isaac at the diner and they spent a much more enjoyable hour discussing the new cards Isaac had painted for their shop. With five motifs total they definitely had laid the groundwork for their products. Now it was Stiles’ turn to turn the lifeless pictures into something magical and after the terrible week he’d had he couldn’t wait to finally sink his teeth into their work again. 

oOo

Peter didn’t call Stiles on his skittishness during that one week, but after Stiles’ talk with Isaac on Thursday, something changed in their interactions. 

Stiles couldn’t fault Isaac for talking to Peter about it; heck, he’d half prayed for something to give himself, so the peace of mind he’d achieved wouldn’t be shot again, but ... 

But something was _missing_ in their interactions now and it was making Stiles suddenly feel insecure. It was like Peter had taken a step back metaphorically, even if he still came over for visits and sent lunch with Isaac just like before. Nothing _tangible_ had changed at all, even the negotiations were progressing at a steady pace. 

And yet Stiles didn’t feel as needed anymore all of a sudden, or as wanted. It was like an ice cold shower on his feelings which just wasn’t stopping after it had begun. 

“You look like a drowned poodle, figuratively speaking,” Jackson announced on Tuesday after dropping into the chair next to Stiles during lunch. “But also literally. Even your _hair_ is drooping, Stilinski.” 

Across from Stiles his friends were stopping eating mid-chew and stared. 

Undeterred by their amazement, Jackson continued, “So what’s up. Did you manage to find someone dumb enough to date you and got tossed?” 

“No,” Stiles murmured resentfully. “Fuck off, Jackson.” 

Jackson just scoffed. “I know dating fails when I see them. Danny’s a pro at them.” 

“You lie. Everybody loves Danny,” Erica interjected bravely. 

“They love him in their beds,” Jackson retorted off-handedly. “Hard to have a relationship with a dickhead that only wants to get in your pants and doesn’t return your calls the rest of the time. So, what happened? _Did_ you get dumped?” 

“No,” Stiles repeated, although it felt like a lie. 

Jackson just snorted. “Whatever. You losers doing something this weekend?” 

“Why?” Boyd asked, tone vaguely threatening. 

“Lydia’s throwing a ‘school’s out soon’ party and for some reason she’s decided to invite you,” Jackson said nonchalantly and slid four flyers across the table. “Admittance only with these tickets. It’s an exclusive event.” 

Stiles could hardly believe his ears. “Lydia’s never cared who appears at her parties before.” 

“This time she does,” Jackson replied with a shrug. “So don’t lose those.” 

“But you know who we are,” Isaac said, confused. “Why the tickets?” 

Jackson glanced at Isaac. “You could, theoretically, give them away, that’s why. I wouldn’t recommend it, though.” 

“Okay,” Stiles said to put an end to the conversation. “Thanks for thinking of us. Now shoo.” 

Without protest Jackson got up and sauntered away. 

“What’s up with him?” Erica asked, confused. “Last year you were at each other’s throats and now he’s inviting us all to an exclusive party? Did he and Lydia hit their heads or something?” 

Stiles couldn’t care less at the moment, but Boyd’s question of whether he planned on going forced him to push his bad mood aside for a moment. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I agree with Erica; it’s strange of them to suddenly invite us. You think they might’ve been replaced by pod persons?” 

Isaac threw a chickpea at Stiles. “No.” 

“Maybe she thinks we’re all friends now,” Erica offered. She tapped her friendship bracelet. “Might be because of those.” 

“Do you really believe that?” Boyd questioned, one eyebrow raised. 

Erica shrugged slightly. “Nothing else makes sense this late in the year. Exams start on Monday and after that we probably won’t see each other until school starts again in the fall. If Lydia’s networking, she’s chosen a weird time for it.” 

Stiles didn’t agree - in Lydia’s world there probably didn’t exist a bad time for networking - but he had to admit that her reasons eluded him just as they did the others. 

With a sigh he took the phone out of his pocket and typed messages to his father and Peter. Better to get permission now than leaving it until the the last minute, even if he decided not to go after all. 

“You don’t seem very enthusiastic,” Erica said when Stiles had put his phone away again. “What’s wrong?” 

“Just a little tired,” Stiles muttered, poking the bok choy in his chop suey. It wasn’t a lie, exactly. He was still working through the last of the stiffness after his adventure at the transformer station, and sometimes his cheekbone still hurt a little, despite the gentle healing he afforded himself every couple of days. But most of all the situation with Peter was tiring. “Are you going?” 

A surprisingly sharp smile blossomed on Erica’s face. “As if I’d miss this.” 

Boyd nodded and Isaac gave this little shrug that told Stiles that he’d go if Stiles went but was indifferent to it otherwise. 

“Don’t be mad if I chicken out at the last minute,” Stiles sighed. “I’m not really in the mood for Lydia’s Queen B antics.” 

“It’s not a no, so I’ll take it,” Erica replied happily. 

“Speaking of taking,” Boyd said, “are you really going to take the advanced tests in all of your subjects? Finstock showed me an old one for econ and it was _hard_.” 

Stiles gratefully set his fork down. “Yeah, I have to if I want to graduate early and impress the colleges I’m applying to. But it’s gonna be alright, I studied enough.” 

“We did, too, I think,” Erica said. She smiled at Boyd. “It was good to have a study partner. Maybe we can do that more next year, with all of us together.” 

“Sure, I’m game,” Stiles agreed. “Once a week for starters?” 

The others were good with that and shortly after their talk turned to their more concrete plans for the summer, especially the trips to the lake Erica was dying to take. 

oOo 

Stiles had thought that Peter wouldn’t have to say a lot, if anything, about the party Lydia was throwing on Saturday, but he couldn’t have been more wrong. Peter obviously deemed this event important enough to appear in Stiles’ bedroom via the time-honoured practice of entering through his window, where the mountain ash barrier was doing precisely _nothing_ to keep him out, and to bring a whole sheaf of papers, nicely bundled within an expensive looking leather folder, with him. 

“What’s all this?” Stiles asked when he’d recovered from his surprise. 

“Hello to you too, Stiles,” Peter quipped and handed the folder over. “Read this before you go to that _party_ tomorrow.” 

At once, Stiles’ eyes narrowed. “Are we about to have a row?” he asked. 

Peter’s eyes had a slightly reddish sheen as he said, “That depends on how reasonable you’re going to be.” 

“Oh, so it’s gonna be like that,” Stiles drawled. He flipped the folder open and skimmed the thirteen new paragraphs Peter intended to add to their agreement. At least nine of them were about what Stiles was allowed to do with who in a variety of situations. “Wow, possessive much?” 

“You have no idea,” Peter said tightly without an ounce of shame. “I’ve observed the woman these last few days. Looks like Jackson alluded to at least some of what he’s found out so far, though maybe he didn't even realize it, and your little gift has made her even more curious.” 

“Yeah, I think it did,” Stiles agreed. “It seemed like she could feel something in the bracelets.” 

“And you didn’t bother telling me this?” Peter growled. 

“I thought Isaac already had,” Stiles defended himself. “Since he’s firmly in your corner, it’s sorta his job. Mine, not so much.” 

“Yet,” Peter growled. 

“Yet,” Stiles agreed, though not without a defiant shrug. “I still don’t get what brought this on.” He flicked the offending legalese. 

“Biting Lydia Martin might not just have served the single purpose of drawing you out,” Peter confessed after a long moment. His eyes were fully red now, and stayed that way. 

All humour fled Stiles and he scowled. “What other reason did you have?” 

“I wasn’t really all there back then, as you know, but I did feel a certain _difference_ about her. Some untapped potential that I thought I could maybe unlock with my bite. You being obsessed with her only made her a more attractive target that night … I was catching two birds with one stone, so to speak.” 

“You asshole!” Stiles shouted and threw the folder against Peter’s chest with all his might. “What, did you think you’d be able to lure more people if you had her as a bargaining chip?” 

Peter accepted the abuse as his due. “Yes, exactly. Had she not been immune, it might’ve even worked.” 

“Or we’d have killed you in your sleep,” Stiles snarled. Fury was pounding through him, making his temples and insides pulse with its strength. “You’d have deserved it!” 

“But she didn’t turn, and through the events afterwards I regained my sanity,” Peter said. “I wouldn’t do the same today, if that’s any consolation. However, the fact remains that Lydia is sort of tethered to me now, and through me, to you. No matter how flimsy the connection might be, it _is_ there and will influence you both in ways I can’t predict. That’s why I don’t want you to spend time with her, or worse, share intimacies.” 

“Well, you’re fresh out of luck,” Stiles snarled - honestly snarled - and grabbed a pencil, in case he felt the urge to stab the werewolf. “I’m not in your pack yet, and you won’t ever get to tell me who I’m allowed to spend time with if it’s not a life or death matter.” 

“I wouldn’t presume,” Peter said stiffly. “Lydia Martin is still a special case and I would have you be careful around her.” 

“Your little addendum didn’t explain why, so this is your one and only chance,” Stiles snapped. “Say something dumb and it’s back to square one … if you’re fucking lucky.” 

Peter stared at him for the longest time, just piercing Stiles with his glowing gaze. At long last, he said, “I believe that Lydia is a banshee. That’s why she was able to detect the magic in your bracelet.” 

Stiles’ mouth dropped open. “You’re fucking kidding me!” 

“I assure you that I’m not,” Peter replied, still on his guard. “I am near her often and every time that feeling is a little stronger. It can’t be long before her powers manifest.” 

A bunch of expletives escaped Stiles’ mouth before he was even consciously aware of uttering them. 

When he’d wound down, Peter continued, “She’s in a place of great uncertainty right now. Her magic is grasping for a connection to something or someone magical she feels is safe … and that is _you_ , Stiles.” 

“Well, fine! I’d be happy to … to anchor her, or whatever it is she needs.” 

Peter shook his head. “It’s more than just mooring her to the here and now. There is a power imbalance between the two of you due to your feelings for her. Should you accept her hold on you, she might be able to coerce you into doing things for her you wouldn’t ordinarily do for anyone. And before you say that dear Lydia isn’t like that … she is exactly like that. She’s an ambitious woman with a thirst for recognition and dominance in her domain. Having one like you in her thrall would probably eradicate her morals far quicker than you’d think.” 

“You don’t know that,” Stiles argued. 

“And you don’t know her as well as you think,” Peter returned. “Suspecting or hoping for a heart of gold underneath that arrogant exterior regrettably doesn’t make it so.” 

Stiles mulled this over, forcing himself to give Peter’s argument the same value as his own opinion. It didn’t take very long to realize that there really was no competition between fact and emotion. Stiles might’ve been infatuated for years, but the sad truth was that Lydia did treat others mostly like they were beneath her, even Jackson, occasionally. 

“And that’s why you want to hobble my decision-making abilities?” he finally asked, still resentful but mostly at himself now. “So she won’t get her claws in me?” 

“Yes,” Peter stated bluntly. “Of course you’re free to make friends as you will, and to explore your business opportunities in a way that suits you best. But as a member of my pack, the pack has to be a consideration. That means that freelancing to your heart’s content is out of the question, because the pack and the territory come first. It also means that magically bonding with a supernatural creature outside the pack will be subject to scrutiny, and approval or rejection by the pack.” 

“Not just you?” Stiles asked sharply. 

Peter’s lips curled and revealed a hint of fang with his tense little smirk. “I’m hardly unbiased, am I?” At Stiles’ searching look, he exhaled and said, “I can’t trust just myself with this; the thought of sharing you in this manner makes me feel … unsettled.” 

“Unsettled,” Stiles echoed, disbelieving. The man a yard or so away from him let his eyes flash even brighter, a shadow of amber passing through the red restlessly. As weird as it seemed, apparently Scott’s former wolf spark actually agreed with Peter. 

“Yes. In a manner that makes ripping that woman’s head off seem like a very good idea,” Peter elaborated. “No matter that you’d hate me for it.” 

Stiles grimaced. “You really can’t stand her, can you?” 

“As people are fond to say: I hate her with the passion of a thousand burning stars,” Peter growled. “I hate the power she has over you even now, when she can’t possibly understand your value. I won’t let her ruin you.” 

A lot of the pent-up anger fled Stiles then, and something warm and fluffy was sparking in his chest. “I’m sort of flattered, Creeper Wolf. But your addendum needs work.” He gestured uncertainly to the slightly worn folder in Peter’s clawed hand. “You think we can work things out until tomorrow? Because I’ll go to that party, and I’ll still try and work at being Lydia’s friend. That’s not negotiable.” 

Peter held out his free hand and, when Stiles warily accepted, pulled him to his feet. They were so close that their body heat mingled. “Yes,” he said quietly. “I told you in the beginning that we’ll work _everything_ out, Stiles, no matter how difficult. Thank you for meeting me halfway.” 

“That’s what you do with friends,” Stiles mumbled, suddenly inexplicably shy. He glanced at Peter, guiltily taking in his burning eyes and distractingly handsome face, and cursing himself for it. 

_Thanks, dad_ , Stiles thought a little hysterically. _Thanks for making this so much more awkward than it has to be._

Peter, on the other hand, appeared to be supremely unconcerned by Stiles’ spiking scent and minute tensing. If anything he looked pleased by the conclusion of their argument, if not a little smug about the effect he was having on the teen. 

**End of chapter 37**


	38. Chapter 38

**Chapter 38**

“Dude, you really don’t have to drive us,” Stiles tried, yet again, but Derek was utterly unmoved. 

“I’ll keep watch and take you home when you’re done,” the werewolf repeated his answer for the fifth time. “Or rescue you whenever you want.” He looked like he _wanted_ there to be a need to rescue them. 

Isaac sighed. “Let it go, Stiles. If the adults think it’s necessary, it’s better not to argue.” 

Stiles opened his mouth for a sixth try and closed it promptly when a new text message flashed over the screen of his phone. 

“It’s Peter, isn’t it?” Isaac asked with a smirk. 

“Hah, no. My dad. But he’s telling us to get a move on before he decides to stop by Lydia’s house and check for illicit alcohol consumption.” Stiles straightened up, let the phone slide into his pant pocket, and then clapped his hands. “Well then, let’s go, James.” 

Derek’s unamused look could’ve stripped paint from a wall, but he did leave the house, fully expecting the two boys to follow. 

Fifteen minutes later they stopped in front of Lydia’s chic villa. It was tastefully decorated with fairy lights, which provided an understated but very attractive contrast to the settling darkness. It being past the middle of May already meant that the air was balmy and sweet, and the last rays of sunshine mild on their skin. 

“Man, her parents must be filthy rich,” Isaac muttered after a little whistle. 

From two cars over Erica and Boyd made themselves known and joined their little group. 

“Hey Catwoman, you look absolutely stunning tonight,” Stiles praised, taking Erica’s hand and gesturing for her to twirl around to show off her curled hair, red hairband, and sort-of-rockabilly red blouse and black, tight pants. She even wore a short, black leather jacket and a studded belt. “Have a hot date?” 

“As a matter of fact …” Erica smiled widely and wound her arm around Boyd’s. “I do. This one asked me out when he came to pick me up. Doesn’t he look handsome in his shirt and slacks? His grandma splurged when she heard of the invitation. It was so sweet.” 

Isaac whooped and Stiles laughed in genuine happiness for his friends. Erica blushed and pressed a red kiss onto Boyd’s cheek. Even Derek looked cautiously pleased from his watchful post a few paces away. 

“Yo, losers, are you coming in, or what?” Jackson yelled from the entrance door. “Get a move on, the grill’s ready for our dinner.” 

“Coming!” Isaac called and loped off. 

Stiles watched him and Erica and Boyd go for a second but then turned back to Derek. “You _really_ don’t have to hang around all night. I promised Peter to be careful. But we’ll call when we’re ready to go home. Sound like a deal?” Derek just stared at him until Stiles rocked on his feet awkwardly and raised his shoulders defensively. “Well, okay then. I might come out later and bring you some food. That okay, at least?” 

“That’s okay,” Derek rumbled. He grabbed Stiles’ jacket lapel and dragged him close for a hug and a stubbly cheek rub. “And now go. Jackson’s looking weirdly our way.” 

“Let him look. He’s probably thinking that I had to pay someone prettier than him to cuddle me, the dick. Joke’s on him, though. Us Stilinskis give the best hugs, hah.” Stiles obnoxiously patted Derek’s scruff and jauntily went after Isaac, Erica, and Boyd, who were already inside the house. 

“Really, Stilinski? Derek Hale?” Jackson snarked, hot on Stiles’ heels and quite clearly unwilling to get lost after having taken the voucher. “Does your dad know that you’re playing the underage game?” 

“I’m not playing games with Derek,” Stiles retorted, unerringly finding his way to the large, sunken den where Lydia and her guests were occupying huge white leather sofas and sipping soft drinks. Chill lounge music was playing in the background, setting the mood for a nice, balmy early summer night. There were also more fairy lights and LED strands adorning the room. Huge potted plants brought a little jungle atmosphere to the otherwise rather minimalist design. “Nice digs!” 

“Lydia’s parents are even more wealthy than mine and they’ve never denied Lydia anything she wants for her parties,” Jackson said with a dismissive shrug. “Though they’re nearly done getting a divorce and it’s still up in the air who gets to keep the house. If it comes up tonight, don’t say anything. It’s a sore topic for her.” 

“Thanks for the heads-up,” Stiles murmured, surprised at Jackson’s helpfulness. 

“Yeah, well, try not to get eaten by the sharks.” And with that Jackson made his way out onto the large terrace, where a large grill had indeed been set up. A maid was actually waiting by a table, ready to assist with the grilling effort. 

Shaking his head to himself, Stiles turned his attention to the assembled people. Most were students of their high school, but at least two dozen or so were visibly older than the rest and looking vaguely amused at having been badgered into attending a high schooler’s networking party. 

Stiles guessed that at least half of them would regret their condescension as the evening progressed. 

Before things could become awkward, Stiles just waved at everyone, introduced himself to the new faces, and plonked down next to Erica and Boyd, who’d already been handed drinks. 

Lydia promptly arrived with another for Stiles. “Welcome. I’m glad you could make it.” 

“Well, I don’t actually know why I’m here, but thanks for the invite,” Stiles answered. He accepted the glass of water took a large gulp. “Everything looks really good so far.” 

“Thank you.” Lydia flicked back her perfectly coiffed hair and surveyed the small crowd. With her natural authority it was child’s play for her to command everyone’s attention. “Everyone, now that you’re all here, a few words about this party’s purpose. As you’ve already discovered, I’ve invited some college seniors. Not only can they give us pointers in the fine art of partying,” here Beacon Hills High’s nerdy elite cheered loudly, “they’re also ready and willing to answer questions about their college experience before we dive head first into our exams.” To the college students she said, “Don’t let our age fool you, ladies and gents, we’re quite a bright bunch with lots of ambition and the backing to support our goals.” 

Methodically she introduced the college folks by name, college, and course of study, and offered stickers to write their names on to make mingling easier. Not everyone accepted, although Stiles and his friends all did just for the heck of it. Boyd even chose the most garish floral sticker he could find which promptly animated one of the college dudes to strike up a conversation with him about their society’s gender norms and their harmful effects. 

Erica remained with her date, but Isaac and Stiles took a stroll around the large den, inspecting the expensive furniture and candelabras and the few family pictures adorning the pristine walls. The huge sideboard was loaded with snacks and nibbles, and through the open terrace door the enticing smell of cooking meat was wafting in. Jackson seemed very content behind the grill, sipping his soda and flipping burgers. 

“Hey, fancy seeing you here,” Danny said, drawing Stiles’ attention back to the goings-on in the den, and snagged a toothpick flag with a cube of cheese and a grape from its tray. “Jackson wasn’t sure you’d come.” 

“We’re still not sure why we’ve been invited,” Stiles said. “Lydia doesn’t know Erica, Boyd, and Isaac at all, and she doesn’t exactly have fond feelings for me either.” 

Danny smiled kindly. “That’s Lydia for you, but she notices things alright. They’re important to you so here they are.” He nodded at Isaac. “It’s good to see you with friends after what Scott did.” 

“Danny, you’re not supposed to know about that,” Stiles growled and the teen raised his hands placatingly. 

“I know, I know, sorry. I just wanted to know what’s going on when you and Scott were missing school all of a sudden. I was worried … and wondering what I needed to pin on the Argents to make them go away. Allison’s mom was a _demon_ during the week you didn’t come to school. Four days in she just didn’t turn up again.” Danny eyed Isaac tellingly. “Didn’t anyone tell you?” 

“I was … a little out of it,” Stiles admitted grudgingly. “They might’ve.” 

“I did, actually,” Isaac said, wolfing down another devilled egg with real caviar on top. “And you obviously forgot, but so what. She won’t be bothering us again.” 

Danny coughed in that way when people disagreed but were too polite to tell someone to their face. 

“What?” Stiles asked. “Did they come back?” 

“No, it’s not that. The Argents left town as a family, but I took the liberty of following their movements via the traffic cams … just to make sure, because that whole family has a few screws loose. Allison's grandfather was a _real_ creep.” 

“Yeah, we know. And?” Isaac prodded. 

“They split up just before Redding; Allison and her dad went one way and Mrs. Argent went the other.” Danny picked up a tiny gherkin and glanced around carefully. “No idea whether they split up for logistic reasons, or whether they just split, period, but Mrs. A ditched her car soon after for a rental.” 

Stiles felt a frisson of unease running through him. “That’s not shady at all. Fuck.” 

“I could keep monitoring her,” Danny offered quietly. 

Instantly suspicious, Stiles crossed his arms in front of his chest. “What for?” 

“I’m curious and worried,” Danny confessed, “but I also want in on the reveal you promised Jackson and Lydia. I’ve got eyes and ears, I _know_ that there’s weird stuff going on in Beacon Hills. If there’s a way to protect myself and my family, I want to know.” 

“Psychotic people are weird, but there’s hardly one foolproof way of protecting yourself against them,” Stiles retorted. He was a little twitchy outwardly, but compared to his heart wildly hammering away in his chest at Danny’s blatant gambit he was the very picture of calm. “I should know, my dad runs bi-annual seminars. Also, it’s not super likely that the next crazy family will come along right after the Argents left.” 

“I’m not just talking about the Argents and you know it,” Danny pressed. 

“Even if I did, what’s your point?” Stiles asked. “You think I have all the answers?” 

Danny’s lips firmed up for a second, clearly telegraphing his frustration. “You have at least some of them, Stiles. I _know_ you do.” 

“Sorry man, no can do. The Scott thing is under lock and key due to his being a minor, and the rest is kept hush-hush because there’s an ongoing investigation into the Argents. That they left the county won’t look good for them, but I can’t say more than that.” Stiles clumsily patted Danny’s arm. “It was a nice talk, though. Thanks for being concerned on my account and all, I appreciate it.” 

“Stiles!” Danny called, reaching out and getting a hold of Stiles’ arm when he tried to leave. “I know what you were researching before you got a secure computer.” 

At once, Stiles’ defensiveness turned to aggression and he slapped the other boy’s hand away. “I _knew_ it. I knew that you’d probably snoop around, that’s why I got that computer in the first place. That’s a fucking _crime_ , Danny! I could tell my dad and he’d open your file back up so fast your head would spin right off your shoulders! You were even dumb enough to admit it in front of a witness!” 

Isaac raised both eyebrows and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “You sure did, Mahealani.” 

Danny paled. “I … I’m sorry, Stiles.” 

“You better be!” Stiles hissed. He scowled at everybody’s darling. “Don’t stick your nose where it isn’t allowed or wanted. Clear?” 

“Clear.” Danny was visibly shaken by Stiles’ fury, not having ever been on the receiving end before and clearly not prepared to deal with it. 

“Good. Let that be the last of it and we’re good.” 

“Let’s go,” Isaac murmured and gently led Stiles away, out to the terrace where Jackson was manning the grill with still only the maid for company. As she was the only responsible adult around and alcohol was beginning to make the rounds inside, this didn’t exactly surprise them. 

“Hey, why’re people drinking instead of sitting out here?” Isaac asked, plonking down on one of the supremely comfy deck sofas. “This is like a strip of paradise, and we’ve even got music out here.” He looked around, admiring their surroundings. “Is that a _pool_ over there?” 

“It’s really nice,” Stiles agreed and flopped down next to Isaac. He took several appreciative sniffs. “Plus, whatever you’re grilling smells amazing, Jackson.” 

Jackson snorted and flipped a couple of steaks. “For this event, I’m more or less the hired help. No offence, Rosa.” 

Rosa the maid smiled, showing off her pretty dimples. “None taken.” She held out the platter for Jackson to drop off some bacon-wrapped sausages. “You _are_ very good at grilling things, sir.” 

“But why aren’t you mingling?” Stiles asked Jackson. “Not everyone here is a genius. I mean, Hugh is great at chemistry, but he’s actually an idiot in almost all the other school subjects, and Leah’s a whizz at writing meaningful stuff, but she just sucks at the sciences. Compared to them you’re no slouch, even if you’re a jockass.” 

“Gee, thanks, Stilinski,” Jackson drawled. He thanked Rosa and sent her inside to pour them more drinks. There was a cooler right beside him but the maid just smiled again and left them alone. 

“What’s really going on?” Isaac asked. “Trouble with her ladyship?” 

“No,” Jackson answered after a moment of consideration. “Not in the way you think. For this party my chosen field of study wasn’t deemed interesting enough, that’s all. Can’t say I mind, either. Half of the college ponces in there are grasping idiots.” 

Stiles’ mouth dropped open a little. “Wow, that’s harsh. What’s so bad about your college plans? You gonna go into phys-ed or what?” 

“Hardly,” Jackson scoffed. “My dad hoped that I’d want to take over the firm when he’s ready to retire, but I don’t see myself defending or even prosecuting dumb people.” He smirked. “Most of them are really very dumb, there’s no need to look affronted, Stiles.” 

“He’s not wrong,” Isaac conceded, bumping Stiles’ shoulder with his. “But it it’s not certified jockdom, what _are_ you gonna do?” 

“I’m gonna do business studies.” Jackson transferred the steaks to the elevated grillage for resting. “I’m good at making money, so I’ll do that for a job.” 

“Well, business isn’t the height of titillation, I’ve got to give Lydia that, but it’s hardly cause to exile you,” Isaac told him. “If she’s planning on changing the world, it’s gonna happen via the economy, isn’t it?” 

Jackson pointed his barbeque tongs at them. “Exactly. I’ll play by the rules for a couple of years and then I’ll set out and help found businesses that are good for the environment and shit. That’s definitely where the future’s going.” 

Stiles was impressed and didn’t hesitate to let it show. “Good for all of us. Though what did you mean when you said you’re good at making money?” 

Jackson preened a little. “My parents gave me five-thousand dollars for my sixteenth birthday and I decided to try the stock market. First it was only a couple hundred dollars, just to see if it worked for me. When it did, my mom agreed to act as my proxy. She’ll turn the portfolio over to me as soon as I’m eighteen.” 

“Good luck, then,” Stiles said sincerely. “College will probably be a bitch because I can’t imagine a drier subject, but to each their own.” 

Rosa returned with their drinks then, bringing with her a good portion of the guests. A couple of college students sat by Stiles and Isaac, holding overflowing plates with canapées in their hands. 

“You want anything?” the pretty brunette with a cutely freckled face asked Stiles. Her name tag proclaimed her name to be Jodie. The blonde’s name was Sarah. “I brought way too much, but everything looks just so good.” She even held out a fork to Stiles and grinned winningly. 

The other girl next to Isaac did the same, thereby making it clear that they’d come with a goal in mind. 

“So you’re in Lydia’s year?” Sarah asked. When Isaac murmured his agreement, she fanned herself playfully. “We weren’t sure; you look a little older. Especially you, Isaac.” Her gaze fell from his face to his toned arms. “Are you working out a lot?” 

“Yes, actually,” Isaac replied, stealing a couple of cocktail shrimps from Sarah’s plate. “And you?” 

Stiles held back a snort of amusement, but only just. Sarah looked like a classical gym rat and was showing off her hard work with a tight halter top and blue jeans hotpants to great effect. 

“Ohh, he’s a sarcastic one,” Jodie stage-whispered, which earned her a half-hearted kick from her friend. “Maybe he’s the artsy type? Do you draw or paint?” 

A somewhat stilted discussion began about the merits of studying art in the U.S. versus in Europe. Isaac didn’t mention his comic project and so Stiles didn’t bring it up either. If the other boy didn’t want some wingman action to bag the attractive young woman, Stiles would do his best to adhere to his wishes. A quick text to Erica and Boyd, who were sitting at the far side of the deck and were involved in an animated argument about movies, ensured their silence as well. 

To Stiles’ considerable surprise, their two shadows proved to be rather persistent. Jodie made no secret of her admiration for Stiles’ hands and Bambi eyes, and despite Isaac’s early snub, Sarah seemed determined to have him warm up to her. There were even some veiled attempts to get them away from the others, which was all kinds of confusing for everyone. Thankfully there were a lot of opportunities to move away for a bit, be it to greet someone else, get more food, smuggle out a heaping plate of grilled stuff to Derek, or visit the bathroom. The girls would be back before too long after an evasion, but they weren’t completely insistent on monopolizing Stiles and Isaac’s attention. 

“Why aren’t they hanging out with the college dudes?” Isaac groused a couple of hours later as they huddled around the fire pit with Boyd and Erica and a couple more of their schoolmates. It was the go-to spot for people who didn’t like to dance, not that it provided much protection against someone seeking a partner. “I didn’t come here for this.” 

Erica leaned against him and wiggled her fingers at Sarah in a jaunty little wave. Sarah’s answering annoyed look from the designated dance floor only widened her red-lipped grin. “She might genuinely like you, Isaac.” 

“Well, I don’t really like her,” Isaac huffed. He held his hands out towards the crackling flames of the pit even though it was hardly chilly. “Her perfume is annoying and we have nothing in common. She’s also older than Derek, what is she even thinking.” 

“My dad probably wouldn’t yell at you if you went and had a snog or something,” Stiles muttered. 

“But Peter would,” Isaac retorted. “I need a buffer. Can you guys help?” 

“Yes, but you could just tell her,” Boyd said shortly. 

“Dude, he tried.” Stiles emptied his root beer bottle and fiddled with it. “He was rude as all hell.” 

“Not enough, obviously,” Erica smirked. “Just tell her that you don’t want to hook up. She’s a big girl, she’ll deal. You too, Stiles.” 

“I’ll continue to flee in terror for a while longer, thanks,” Stiles said, causing some of his schoolmates to look at him disbelievingly. 

“Better move fast then, Jodie looks like she wants to come over,” Boyd warned. 

Just then Lydia was joining the group of dancing guests and spent a few minutes with the stalker girls, as Stiles had coined them. Try as he might, Stiles just couldn’t look away from Lydia’s sinuously moving body and gently swaying long hair. To his eye, she was one of the most beautiful girls in the world - certainly not everybody’s type but with so much character and sheer presence to make up for any and all perceived flaws. 

“You’re drooling,” Erica murmured and elbowed Stiles in the side. 

Stiles ducked his head and flushed a little. “Sorry, yeah. I’ll just … go cool my face or something.” He pointed vaguely at the villa. “Text me if something hilarious happens.” 

“Will do, Batman,” she chirped. 

Stiles saluted his friends, put his empty bottle into a crate and trotted off. Instead of just going through the terrace door he went around the villa and entered through the front entrance. 

Inside the house, the sound system was playing the same music as outside but otherwise it was very quiet. Not even ‘the help’ was visible, and they had a lot of work to do after several someones had apparently gotten into an all-out goldfish cracker fight. The white rug in the den was almost completely covered in crumbs and less fun sticky stuff. 

Shaking his head at the carnage, Stiles let himself into the bathroom, used the facilities and then splashed cool water into his face several times. 

He’d hoped to find some clarity away from the press of people, but nope, he was still confused as to why he and the others had been invited to this particular party. While talking to the other hopefuls about their impending tests and plans for the future had been genuinely stimulating and even inspiring, Lydia’s conspicuous distance was making him nervous. The longer she kept ignoring him, the more it looked like Peter had been right … and Stiles didn’t want Peter to be right. 

An incoming text from Erica asking him if he’d drowned shook him from his woolgathering. Thumbing away the message, Stiles straightened his shoulders, looked one last time into the mirror to make sure the washing of his face hadn’t made his eyebrows all caterpillar-y, and then reluctantly left his sanctuary. 

If he were honest with himself he wanted to go home. Maybe Isaac would agree, or at least tell Stiles that it was okay to leave him behind with Erica and Boyd. 

Stiles considered texting Isaac but decided against it. The guy was a mere forty or so yards away; he’d just ask him himself. 

To have some more moments of relative quiet, Stiles went back out of the front door to again take the long way around the house. He’d just turned the first corner and was about to enter the little colourful garden the Martin family’s talented gardener had planted when a vision in a white gossamer dress with sparkling sequins and dark pink belt and high-heels arrested him. 

“Hello Stiles,” Lydia said, looking him over appraisingly. Her voice was low and sultry, just like in all the fantasies Stiles had ever had since discovering what his dick could do. “I thought I’d never find you alone. Do you have a moment for me?” 

**End of chapter 38**


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, wow, it was so hard to get this chapter done. It's far too hot right now, and humid. My brain has turned to mush and I had to snatch moments here and there when it was a little cooler to write. This story isn't abandoned, I just need a breather, quite literally. Sorry. :(

**Chapter 39**

Stiles reflexively looked around to check if Lydia _really_ meant him, never mind that she’d spoken to him directly. Her dismissal of him was so ingrained that he just couldn’t help himself. 

“Uhm, hey, yeah, you can have a minute,” Stiles stuttered. “Although I was just about to ask Isaac whether he’s ready to go home. I’m already beat.” 

The weak lie made Lydia’s full lips quirk up a little. “Surely it wasn’t that bad. I saw you flirting with someone all night.” 

“Hah, _she_ was flirting with _me_ , which, strange. Nobody flirts with me, ever.” Stiles took a tiny step back when Lydia daintily came forward. A soft breeze made her dress flutter gently, and he could smell traces of her expensive perfume. He stared at Lydia. “She wasn’t really flirting with me, was she?” 

“Hm, no,” she admitted airily, still raking her eyes all over him. A step away, she stopped her slow prowl and looked up to him like the helpless female she so decidedly wasn’t. Almost as an afterthought she touched the friendship bracelet around her wrist. “Don’t take it personally; she’s a lesbian and wanted to do me a favour.” 

Even though he’d almost suspected as much, Stiles still felt acute disappointment at that confession. Too old for him or not, it’d have been nice to be flirted with because of some honest attraction. “What kind of favour would that be? You bet on me falling for a stupid middle school prank or what? If so, I’d really have expected better from you.” 

Lydia bit her lip and blinked slowly. Carefully, oh so carefully, her hands touched his waist and crept around it in a gossamer soft embrace. “It was not a prank. All I wanted was for her to lead you to a quiet place … for a talk. But you resisted her charms all night, which, while somewhat impressive, was inconvenient. It was getting tiresome to blow Jackson off.” 

“About that … dude’s pissed off about more or less not being invited.” Stiles flushed a little at her touch. Even as light as it was he was still hyper-aware of the tiniest pressure against his heated skin. “A-are you breaking up with him?” 

“No, of course not,” she responded like he should have known. At the same time her tentative hold on him grew a little firmer, more assured. “But I thought that you and I could have … something nice, too, and to find that out I needed time away from him.” 

“Wha-what?” Stiles gaped at her. “Seriously, what?” 

Lydia smiled, and while Stiles could detect the hint of condescension perfectly well, he found her smile enthralling anyway. No girl had ever smiled at him like that. “It took me a while to notice, but you’re more than what you seem at first glance.” She raised her face a little and caressed his back with soft, long strokes. “We could be very good friends.” 

Gulping, Stiles mentally counted to ten. This was literally nearly every dream come true … and also a complete nightmare. Lydia offering up herself in sacrifice for that elusive something she thought she needed from him was ugly and so _sad_ that he could hardly breathe for it. 

“And Jackson?” Stiles managed to rasp out, his lips nearly touching hers. Unconsciously he leaned backwards a little as she came another few millimeters closer. “Would he really just tolerate your side dude?” 

“He loves me,” Lydia murmured, “and he knows what I need.” She fluttered her lashes at Stiles and pressed so close that he could feel all of her curves. “It’s lucky that you’ve gotten along better with him lately, though … maybe, in time, you two could become _good friends_ as well. I know that he’s looked at guys once or twice.” 

She took a soft breath, closed her eyes, and leaned in, and Stiles nearly pulled something as he evaded her kiss in a panic. Below the belt, his rather involuntary boner was shrieking at him in outrage. 

“I-I-I don’t t-think that he’d like me to d-do this,” he stammered. He gently attempted to flee her embrace, only to find that her grip was rather strong for such a petite person. 

“Jackson will understand,” Lydia purred, moving in for another try. “You’re somehow _special_ , Stiles. Is it so wrong to want that for myself? Just a little bit?” 

“Nah, I get it. And I’d love to get together with you, you know that, but …” He steeled himself against her powers of seduction and decided to go for broke. In a rush he added, “But not like this. See, I’ve dreamed of leading you to the altar and have Jackson cry his stupid eyes out because you left him for me.” 

“Cute,” Lydia chuckled. She ran a hand over Stiles’ cheek, looking honestly amused. 

“Yeah, cute.” Stiles raked a hand through his hair, dislodging hers in the process. “But that’s the whole point. _You left him for me_.” He looked at her, taking in all of her fantastic features, and felt so torn that it hurt. “Reality is different; you won’t leave him for me. All this is gonna do is make all of us miserable. And I can’t do that. Not even to hurt Jackson.” 

“Good to know,” Jackson said. He strolled along the narrow garden path and glared at his unrepentant girlfriend. “Are you done here? Great. Let’s go back to the others, Lyds.” 

“I’m not finished here,” Lydia retorted. Her light touch turned into a tight grip around Stiles’ middle and her eyes narrowed. “You can wait for me inside, Jackson.” 

“I really can’t.” Jackson merely put his hands into his pants pockets. “You either come with me right now, or I’ll leave.” 

Lydia scoffed and Stiles just wished he could be anywhere else but here. 

“I’ll leave for good,” Jackson clarified. “Right now. Let go of Stilinski and forget this nonsense about needing him close or whatever. It’s bullshit anyway.” 

“It’s not,” Lydia hissed. “It’s _not_!” 

“Whatever, I’m out.” Jackson waved a hand at Stiles. “You’re welcome to her, Stiles, but it probably won’t last long.” 

“I know,” Stiles muttered. He finally found the resolve to push Lydia away. Almost at once it was easier to breathe, and to think. “Sorry, Lydia, but it’s not gonna work like that. I’m better than stupidly accepting your scraps.” 

He stepped around the shocked girl and trudged up to Jackson. Together, they made the short trek back to party, where Jackson actually got Stiles a beer and toasted him with it. Together they sat down on a white bench by the pool and watched the few brave ones who’d jumped into the water. Every now and then water splashed as far as their feet, though it was warm enough that neither cared about their soaked sneakers. 

“Good show there, Stilinski. I didn’t think you’d tell her no,” Jackon murmured. 

“Well, it’s true, what I said. I’d have loved to have her leave you for me.” Stiles took a sip of his drink while Jackson snorted. “She doesn’t want to leave you, you know.” 

“Well, tough. I don’t share. That she even tried to pull this is bullshit, and lacked all the subtlety, is a letdown.” 

“Are you serious just now?” Stiles raised both eyebrows at the other teen. “You were going after Allison pretty aggressively there, dude. How’s that not a complete double standard?” 

“I wouldn’t have _kept_ her,” Jackson stated like that made it any better. “Plus, I mostly wanted to fuck with McCall.” He shrugged. “I never claimed to be a saint. But hell freezes over before I accept anyone as Lydia’s permanent side chick. Even _if_ I could maybe find you attractive enough to make it work … in a hundred years or so.” 

Stiles grimaced. “Dude, I’m not that effeminate, thanks. If anyone’s gonna be a chick, side or otherwise, it’s _you_ , pretty boy.” 

“I’m not so sure about that, _Bambi Eyes_.” Jackson smirked and bumped Stiles’ shoulder with his own. “Anyway, thanks for not letting Lydia have her way. That means something.” 

“Yeah. I’m astounded at myself,” Stiles confessed, staring intently at the water painting he was drawing with his wet shoes. “Seems like I have some self-respect after all.” 

“She can drive someone insane,” Jackson allowed. He looked over the mingling party guests and took another long pull from his bottle. 

“You good?” Stiles asked after a slight pause. “I mean, you just broke up with her.” 

Jackson dismissed this with a negligent shrug. “We break up every other month. She’ll be back before long.” 

“And … you’ll let her?” Stiles was thrown. “The fuck?” 

“It’s fucked up, I know,” Jackson agreed. “I don’t care. At the end of the day she’s it for me, and I’m it for her. I don’t see that changing just because she’s been crazy for a few months. It’ll get better eventually. I swore that I’d stick around, and I will. You were right that she’s worth it.” 

“Unless she starts building a harem,” Stiles teased. He could hardly believe that he was actually able to joke about it, and with Jackson no less, but it felt good. 

“Yeah, I won’t tolerate that.” Jackson turned to Stiles and looked him over with open appraisal. “What is it that she really wants from you?” 

“I have a very good guess, but I can’t tell you just yet,” Stiles replied. “Let’s just say that I was warned that this could happen.” 

“Will it happen again?” Jackson demanded. 

“I can’t speak for Lydia, but from my end? No. Definitely not,” Stiles said honestly. “We’ll talk soon, maybe after the exams are done. I need some more time to finish my presentation, so.” 

“At least those are good,” Jackson complimented grudgingly. He kicked at the small puddle of water at his feet. “But I swear to god, you let us wait longer than the end of June and I’ll kick your ass from here to Massachusetts.” 

Stiles could only grin about that threat. “I’d like to see you try.” From Jackson’s other side Isaac sauntered into view, casual as can be. “Hey Isaac. You ready to leave?” 

“Yup,” Isaac replied, eyes going from Stiles to Jackson and back again. “Derek’s got the motor running already. Erica and Boyd will stay a bit longer but Erica’s demanding Skype time tomorrow.” 

“Alright.” Stiles set his half empty bottle onto the ground and rose. “Except for the stalker girls and Lydia’s little bout of thoughtlessness it was … nice. Your grilled stuff was the best part, Jackson.” 

“Seconded,” Isaac said with a smirk. “Although I liked those devilled eggs, too.” 

Jackson accepted the praise as his due and nodded briefly. “I’ll see you around school. Good luck for the exams.” 

“Yeah, you too.” Isaac slung his arm around Stiles’ shoulders and led him away from the noise of the music and the shrieking and loudly talking and laughing people. As soon as they’d left the large area and were moving alongside the villa where no one was loitering, he asked, “You okay?” 

Stiles looked at him speculatively. “Yeah. Why didn’t you come when Lydia made her stupid little play? I could’ve used some moral support there. Or a crowbar with someone with werewolf strength attached to it.” 

Isaac slightly raised his eyebrow at him. 

“Oh come on. That was a _test_?” Stiles exclaimed, elbowing Isaac in the side to properly express his disgust. 

“With Peter, everything is a test,” Isaac said unapologetically. He looked away and mumbled in a much lower voice, “He’d have been so pissed if you’d let her kiss you.” 

“I’ll show him pissed,” Stiles grumbled. 

They reached the gate and while Isaac stepped through without hesitation, Stiles stopped and turned around to get one last good look at the villa. 

Even from here the music and voices were almost as loud as in the garden proper, and the fairy lights were still nice to look at. However, after Lydia’s attempted seduction, and a half-hearted one at that, like he wasn’t even worth the effort, all of the magic had gone out of the evening. 

For the first time in probably ever Stiles knew exactly where he stood with Lydia. It was hard getting disillusioned like that, but on the other hand it felt like a milestone in the ever-exciting process of growing up. Not a stranger to feeling settled in himself despite all of his idiosyncrasies and insecurities, this experience added something to Stiles that enhanced his sense of self immeasurably. 

For the first time in a long while, Stiles actually felt lighter and freer. Like giving a pass to the proclaimed love of his life’s attentions had loosened a noose around his neck that had suffocated him so sweetly for all these years. 

An idling motor was shut off and quiet footsteps on gravel alerted Stiles to Derek’s approach. 

“You did good,” the werewolf told him. “Whatever else played a role in that girl’s behaviour, you should never accept being someone else’s stopgap. Especially not when feelings are involved.” 

Stiles smiled crookedly. “I know. I’ll probably mope about it for a while, but that’s okay.” 

“Good.” Derek sighed and enfolded Stiles in one of his fantastic hugs. “We’re getting milkshakes on the way home.” 

“Hell yes, we are,” Stiles mumbled into Derek’s shoulder and squeezed him tightly. 

oOo

“I thought that it’d be a chocolate milkshake kind of night,” Peter said as he strolled into the open space living room of his apartment. He nodded at Derek, who turned on his heel and left, and took a cheeky sip of Stiles’ drink. “Vanilla seems a rather … settled choice, all things considered.” 

“I’m good,” Stiles told him and easily leaned into Peter’s comforting arm. “Not a triumph, but not a disaster either. But you were right about Lydia and I feel like an idiot.” 

“To be fair, she would have tried that sooner or later,” Peter consoled him. “I just didn’t think she’d be in such a hurry - or that obvious.” 

“I’m spending the night at Derek’s,” Isaac announced. “I’m just getting some things.” 

“Wait, what?” Stiles craned his neck to watch the other teen lope into his room. “Why do you wanna go? I thought we’d hang out a little before I slink home.” 

“I promised Derek to watch Numb3rs with him while Peter consoles you. Unlike you, Derek can actually be wowed by the math,” Isaac called through the open door. Some rustling could be heard, and not a minute later Isaac reappeared with a duffle bag thrown over his shoulder. “Holler if you need something, Peter.” 

“Will do, pup. Have fun.” Peter smiled indulgently after Isaac and then steered Stiles towards his monstrosity of a couch. “Now that we’re alone, let’s deal with some business. If you do not actually need consoling, that is.” 

“As I said, I’m good. What business?” Stiles slurped loudly through his straw and raised his eyebrows inquiringly. It had the desired effect of making Peter’s lips quirk up in an entertained grin. “Has something happened? Did Mrs. Argent get back to town? Or did Scott break out of prison?” 

“The Failure is going nowhere, I assure you,” Peter replied haughtily. “No, something arrived today and I wanted you to be the first one to see it.” 

“Sort of like a present? I’m down for that!” Stiles made grabby hands and cheered when Peter handed over a large sealed leather roll. The cheering lasted until a very weird tingling raced through his hands and into his chest, only to shoot up to his head and right into his eyes. For a short second it felt as if actual light was shooting out of them. “Oof! What the fuck?” 

“That,” Peter said, staring intently at Stiles, “was magic. Your eyes lit up beautifully, almost like a wolf’s.” 

“You could’ve warned me.” Stiles rubbed his smarting eyes. “Now tell me what this is.” 

“It’s Angelique Argent’s Official Acknowledgement Of Obligation. It’ll be written on vellum, and should be signed in blooded ink.” Peter made a claw appear on his index finger and very carefully cut through the paper seal around one of the leather roll’s ends. “That touch of magic was strong and is a further sign of her intent to apologize for her family’s crimes.” 

“How can magic help with that?” Stiles asked. He traced the intricate stitches and carvings on the dark brown leather with his fingertips, trying to chase that feeling of magic. When nothing was forthcoming, he made a disappointed sound. “Would you have felt it?” 

“As strongly as it affected you, definitely,” Peter said. “But this was only the first part. A confirmation of receipt, if you will. The Argents’ magic user will have felt that I and another magic user have touched the leather.” 

“Uh, okay. That’s sort of creepy, but practical, I guess. Only … did they know that you have a magic user close by?” 

“Very good question.” Peter took the leather roll from Stiles’ rather nerveless fingers and unceremoniously loosened the lid. “They didn’t, but they do now.” 

Stiles was confused and not a little concerned. “Which means that you just gave up an advantage. Will they know that it is me?” 

“They already know of you, thanks to dear Chris and Allison,” Peter soothed him. “And you knew who you’d be playing ball with when you decided to join me. But to answer your question: no, they do not know that you, specifically, are a magic user. I highly doubt that the recently departed Argents even suspected. Should you ever meet the magic user who cast that spell on the offering, they will know, though.” 

“I thought as much,” Stiles muttered, “and I’m not exactly ecstatic about it.” 

“Yes, it is one of the less enjoyable facts of magic,” Peter agreed. “Magic users, no matter their strength or natural inclination, will develop a keen sense of awareness over time. Instead of faces or scents or sounds you’ll be able to recognize magical signatures. And contrary to the traditional senses, this one is said to only get stronger with age and experience.” 

At this, Stiles perked up a little. “Like in Harry Potter?” 

“Just so, I suppose,” Peter replied and showed a hint of fang as he smiled. “That means that no one with even the slightest amount of magic in their bodies will ever be able to hide from you, should you live long enough to hone that skill.” 

Stiles took the leather roll back and smacked Peter against the shoulder with it. “You absolute _dick_. It’s your job to make sure I live that long.” 

“Yes, it is, and I take that job very seriously.” Peter’s voice took on a faint rumbling quality. “Take out the scroll, Stiles. Let’s see whether the Grand Matriarch has put down what she promised us.” 

**End of chapter 39**


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't say it enough, but thank you for all your kind comments - some of them are really letters, they're so long! You're amazing, truly. :)

**Chapter 40**

Under Peter’s watchful eyes, Stiles carefully extracted the rolled up vellum from the leather sheath. It was soft to the touch and had that typical new leather smell, which was accompanied by the stinging scent of burned and cooled sealing wax and something earthy, almost rusty. 

“That’s the blood in the ink?” Stiles asked quietly as he ran his nose along the rolled up and sealed vellum. “Can I say yuck?” 

“You can,” Peter answered, one eyebrow slightly raised. “Just because I’m used to that smell doesn’t mean I find it particularly pleasant.” He halted Stiles’ hand with a touch to the wrist and sniffed along the roll himself. “She used the old fashioned kind of ink, made from a Chinese ink stone and water. I’d say the percentage of blood used in that ink lies between ten and fifteen percent; far above the required few drops to magically seal a contract. Angelique Argent was keen on letting us, and her people, know that she’s dead serious about making amends ... _if_ she used her blood, which we must accept as true unless proven otherwise.” 

Stiles tried to keep his breathing even but it wasn’t easy with Peter so close. He smelled absolutely amazing even with only traces of his cologne clinging to him, drowning out even the somewhat pungent new leather smell of the Argents’ offering. “Uh, how are we gonna do that? We don’t have a sample to compare it to.” 

“We don’t, but we do have _you_ , Stiles.” 

“What? Are you serious? I’m not a lab technician. Heck, we don’t even have a lab.” 

Peter’s voice was low and soothing as he said, “We don’t need a lab. Angelique Argent and her magic user have already provided everything we need. It’s a delicate task, but I trust that you’ll be able to ascertain the validity of her offer when the time comes.” 

Deflating, Stiles bit his lip worriedly. “No pressure, huh? At least it’ll be one less hunter clan to worry about if I don’t mess it up.” 

“Exactly,” Peter replied, looking pleased. “I can’t emphasize enough just how rare such an event is, let alone of this magnitude, which is why I don’t believe there to be a problem. You’re quite literally experiencing history, Stiles, so take your time to discover every little nuance of this treasure. Allow yourself to actually _be_ in this moment, instead of just acknowledging it and moving on.” 

Stiles was doubtful that he’d be able to sit still enough and told the other man so. 

Ever practical, Peter pushed the couch table away and sat down on the floor. “Come on, get down here. We’re going to ground you a little before we go further.” 

“Like, literally?” Stiles couldn’t help but eye Peter sceptically. “That’s dumb, I hope you’re aware of that.” 

“It’s really not.” Reaching over, Peter grabbed Stiles’ ankle and simply yanked him down, causing Stiles to tumble to the floor in a flailing heap. 

“Ow, you jerk!” Stiles complained. “That actually hurt!” 

Peter manhandled Stiles into a position half encircled in his arms, the right side of Stiles’ back pressing against Peter’s left flank, the one that had been really hurt that night at the transformer station. Immediately after getting Stiles settled, the pain drain started and the smarting in Stiles’ elbows and backside subsided. 

“That’s better,” Stiles huffed, “but next time you could just _ask_.” 

“And suffer your derision? I’d rather not. I’m more the act first, apologize later type.” Peter hooked his chin over Stiles shoulder and nudged the rolled up vellum in Stiles’ hands. It was a little squished from being held so tightly but otherwise intact. “Now let’s make history together.” 

Stiles couldn’t help the hammering of his heart, or the slight sheen of sweat appearing on his upper lip and between his shoulder blades. Some of it could be laid at the feet of an Important Moment About To Happen, but the lion’s share fell to Peter’s sheer _presence_. He was intimidating enough on his own, but with the foreign wolf spark and Stiles’ mountain ash inside he felt almost magnetic to the overwhelmed teen. It was like something of Stiles’ was inside the man and calling for him at every opportunity. It wasn’t at all obvious like the few times the wolf spark had made its existence known. Most of the time there was just that weird tension between them, but it was distracting enough. 

“You’re not very grounded yet,” Peter tisked when Stiles didn’t move. “Maybe my technique is lacking.” 

“Yours could use some work,” Stiles agreed bravely. In his chest, his stupid heart decided to pick up the pace, and on his arms and scalp his hair decided to rise a little. It was the worst yet best kind of shiver. “You’ve got nothing on Derek’s hugs. Those are ten out of ten, would definitely buy again.” 

“I see.” 

Stiles could _feel_ Peter’s thoughtful expression; it was like his intent radiated against the skin of Stiles’ neck. A bit breathless Stiles asked, “Do you?” 

“Mmh. I might need some pointers later.” Peter’s arm was firm around Stiles’ middle and his solidness was a welcome anchor for Stiles’ fluttery thoughts. “But right now I want you to take a couple of deep breaths. Just count them and take it slow. Feel your connection to the floor … concentrate on the pressure against your body. When you breathe out, let your energy sink down, and when you breathe in, take in the lightness from the ether high above you …” 

It came as no small surprise to Stiles that Peter was actually able to guide him into a calmer state of mind. He usually wasn’t a big fan of letting others tell him what to do, but in this case he gladly bowed to Peter’s far greater experience. 

A few breaths in, something tickled Stiles’ arm and he started. 

“Don’t fall out of the meditation,” Peter instructed. “It’s just your wolf spark saying hello.” 

Stiles did his best to relax again, and to welcome the mountain ash-covered spirit on his skin. It was lively, almost like a frolicking puppy, and it slithered all over Stiles’ body before resting along the teen’s back, two paw-like tentacles wrapping around his ribs in a canine hug. 

“Aw, man, I’m tearing up here,” Stiles complained half-heartedly with a little sniff. He leaned into the mountain ash - and therefore into Peter - and patted one of the paws on his stomach gently. “I miss you too, buddy.” 

“He’s getting bolder,” Peter hummed. A glance from the corner of Stiles’ eye told him that the mountain ash was escaping out of Peter’s mouth, but the werewolf didn’t seem to feel any discomfort. “It won’t be long now before he’s coming back to you.” 

“Will you be sad to see him go?” Stiles asked quietly. Concentrating on the minute shifting of the fine ash on his skin, combined with the gentle thrill of magic, was probably the most meditative thing he’d ever done in his life. 

“He’s ready to go out again,” Peter answered, “and while I’ll always feel responsible because I failed him so badly the first time around, he has more than proven that he’s strong enough on his own. And I know that he’ll be in very good hands from now on.” 

“Makes a good lesson about choosing carefully who to add to the pack, doesn’t it?” Stiles murmured. “I get that Scott sort of couldn’t be helped, what with how injured you were, but we’ll take precautions against it happening again, won’t we?” 

“Yes, we most certainly will.” 

Against his back, Stiles could feel Peter’s calm and steady heartbeat. It was a little disappointing to have him so unaffected when the man’s mere presence was sometimes enough to fluster Stiles, but in a way it was also reassuring. _One_ of them had to keep a cool head, and it sure as hell wasn’t going to be Stiles! 

“Awesome,” Stiles said. He pressed a hand to his stomach and smiled wistfully when the ash rose a little to meet him. “Maybe we should declare the puppy our judge of character. So far he’s been doing really well.” 

“Mmh, so you think I have a good character?” Peter purred. 

“Insofar that you’re not hellbent on world domination,” Stiles countered, flushing. “Also, you can cook. That deserves bonus points.” 

Chuckling, Peter rubbed his stubbled cheek against Stiles’ neck, giving him a beard rash in the process and not caring one whit about the boy’s indignant squawks. “I’ll take the compliment. Are you feeling more grounded now?” 

Stiles stilled and listened into himself. “Yeah,” he said, surprised when his former jitters failed to make themselves known. “I guess I am. Having Lou around actually helps.” _You, too, but I better not say that aloud_ , Stiles added mentally. _One of dad’s lectures was enough._

“Lou?” Peter questioned. 

Stiles’ flush deepened. “Shut up, I can’t always call him ‘Scott’s wolf spark’, that’s super demeaning. He’s mine now, isn’t he?” 

“But _Lou_?” Peter prodded. 

“Short for Loup Garou,” Stiles explained. “He’s all nice and cuddly until he really isn’t. Isn’t that right, buddy?” 

The newly named Lou squirmed happily all over Stiles’ back and was wild enough to make Peter feel it as well. 

“I think he’s curious about the Argents’ offer, too,” Peter said, amused. 

“Then let’s get to it. Can Lou help break the seal?” 

Peter rested his chin back on Stiles’ shoulder. “By all means; that’ll send the Argents’ magic user into a nice tailspin if nothing else. And before you ask, both Isaac and Derek declined attending. Derek doesn’t want anything to do with Argent-related matters, and Isaac simply doesn’t care.” 

“He’s a little weird,” Stiles muttered. 

“No, he’s merely uninterested in the finer points of supernatural shenanigans. He wanted a family and a place to live a healthy and productive life, but, and I quote him here, he didn’t sign up for fancy, potentially soul-crushing mystical shit. Considering his complete lack of interest in all things magic, I didn’t see the point in making him attend.” 

“I’m sure he’s thanking you for that.” 

Peter smirked. “Yes, he just did. Again.” 

“Isaac, you’re a heathen,” Stiles huffed, rolling his eyes. “But alright, let’s get on with it.” 

“A bit more respect, please,” Peter admonished, although he was still smirking. 

Before their eyes, the mountain ash slithered onto Stiles’ right hand and formed a sharp looking claw on his index finger. 

“This is _so_ cool,” Stiles said in a hushed voice and inspected the claw from every angle. “Oh my god.” 

“No, you may not scratch yourself,” Peter rumbled and put his hand around Stiles’ to put a halt to the teen’s almost involuntary move to test it out. 

Stiles blushed. “Sorry, I don’t even know why I did that.” 

“I understand,” Peter told him, “but I’d prefer that you do not cut yourself to ribbons.” He traced the dark mountain ash lines on Stiles’ skin and tapped the claw. “Playing around is fine, but I expect you to protect your human, even from himself if need be. Don’t make me bring out the alpha eyes.” 

The claw vanished from Stiles’ finger, the ash instead curling apologetically around Peter’s wrist. 

“I’m not angry,” Peter said, more gentle now. “But I need you to be careful of your partner. There’s a time and place to test out your limits and this is not it.” 

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed. “We’ll check it out when you’re done with healing Peter and school’s out for the summer. Then we have all the time in the world.” 

The mountain ash perked up at that, a definite feeling of relief and agreement skittering over Stiles’ skin and right into his mind. 

“We’ll be an awesome team, Lou,” Stiles promised. “Let’s start with one claw and we’ll work our way up. You game?” 

Lou _was_ game and in the blink of an eye the claw was back, even sharper looking than before. 

Carefully, Stiles placed the black claw right next to the wax seal. With just one drag of his finger the dark red seal was cleanly cut open and the tension in the rolled up vellum dissipated, the soft material sagging a little in Stiles’ lap. 

Watched with their eyes, there was nothing special about this, but Stiles felt a weird vibration wander from the claw to his fingertips and into his body. 

“More magic,” he gasped when it reached his sternum and ignited there in a little ball of fiery energy. 

“That would be the second seal,” Peter explained, tracing the broken wax reverently. “There’s one more to go.” 

“Was that some sort of anti-theft measure or something?” Stiles huffed. “Because if that was the friendly greeting, I don’t want to know what a bad guy would’ve gotten.” 

“It’s invasive because the Argents’ magic user doesn’t know much about my pack. They know you, now, and Lou as well, and someone will probably report their findings as soon as they have set up their base in this area, but until then they need to operate on faith. There’s a lot of money at stake here, after all, not to mention the punishment The Council would dish out were a mishap to happen.” 

Stiles frowned. “I get that, but I should’ve asked earlier: if they already know you, why didn’t _you_ just open this thing?” 

“I did open the casing, which was enough to fulfil the magic’s most basic requirement. But I wanted you to finish the process because frankly, without you nothing of this would’ve ever even happened.” Peter turned Stiles’ face so he could look at him. “You deserve to fully understand just how much good you’ve already done for the pack.” 

Stiles swallowed and looked down nervously. “It was mostly luck. Things could’ve turned out really bad. We all could’ve died. Several times.” 

“It was you who saved me, and it was your involvement that also allowed us to eliminate a number of lethal threats,” Peter reminded him evenly. “What’s more, you unexpectedly proved to have a very useful talent besides your quick wit and never hesitated to educate yourself to protect and help us. You put a lot of time and money into that effort, so this is the very least of what I can do to repay you.” 

“I’ll probably need a teacher before long,” Stiles said after an awkward pause during which he desperately tried to compose himself. Even with just the two of them present it was still appallingly overwhelming to be acknowledged in such a way. “Once I’ve graduated at the latest. I really don’t want to set something on fire, or blow all of us up.” 

“I’m on it,” Peter rumbled, letting go of Stiles’ jaw and returning his attention to the roll in Stiles’ lax hands. “Cost won’t be a factor, once this here is settled.” Correctly guessing Stiles’ impulse to argue, Peter went on, “We can discuss it later, if we must, but let’s deal with this first.” 

“Right,” Stiles agreed. Taking a deep breath, he readied himself for the actual unrolling of the Official Acknowledgement Of Obligation. “Who knew that opening the mail could take so long?” he joked weakly. 

Peter smirked smugly. “Some things just require special handling.” 

Despite the lewd innuendo, all Stiles could do was laugh as well, and just like that the odd tension in the room lightened again. “So we just … unfold it?” 

“Yes.” 

Carefully, Stiles took hold of the top part of the sheet of vellum and slowly unrolled it. It was longer than he’d thought, easily three feet, and filled from top to bottom with beautiful, yet easily legible calligraphy in a brownish black ink. 

“That blood smell is even stronger now,” Stiles murmured into the reverent silence. “And the ink is kind of glowy. Magic?” 

Peter huffed out a little laugh. “Magic. Let’s read, we need to go over every little detail and check for loopholes and traps. After that you’ll do your thing one last time.” 

“Yay,” Stiles snarked, but he settled against Peter and together they took a good half hour to read the Official Acknowledgement Of Obligation and discuss the points that stood out to them. 

“They did good,” Stiles concluded. He dropped the vellum onto the floor and stretched out his shoulders and arms. It was going past midnight and exhaustion was beginning to claw at him. “Clear language, barely any wiggle room, and what wiggle room is there seems to have been included with our comfort in mind, not theirs.” 

“I agree,” Peter said. He looked relaxed and content as he leaned against the couch. “Everything Angelique Argent promised is in there, and she even put in some extras.” 

“Well, I’m glad she didn’t offer free, lifelong counselling to you and Derek. That’d have been a red flag the size of Alaska.” Stiles got to his feet and stretched again. “But complimentary samples of any new wolfsbane weapons are a very nice touch. The lady knows her business.” 

“Personally, I was more surprised by her offer to share any and all Argent intelligence as it pertains to our pack,” Peter replied. “Weapons are always nice to have, but knowledge will be the true ace in our hand going forward.” 

“The only thing that seems a little questionable is the closeness she proposes for the Argent liaison. I mean, that contract practically proposes making an Argent pack and I don’t think any of us want that after what the Argents did to your family. The spying opportunities alone are horrifying, never mind the fact that they could practically stab all of us in the back any time they wanted.” 

“It’s just an offer, though,” Peter murmured. “The ball on that front is in our court. We alone decide how close we want to keep their liaison. If we click, including them might be something to think about later, but if not I’d be perfectly content with using them for their firepower and contacts in the community and little else.” 

“If there actually is some good chemistry, promise to talk it over with everyone before you decide?” Stiles asked. “Especially Derek.” 

“You’re his alpha; of course I wouldn’t go against his or your express wishes.” Peter rose as well and stretched out his neck muscles. “I’m not _keen_ on having an Argent in the pack. I just don’t want to dismiss the possibility wholesale if a circumstance ever presented itself that’d make the idea palatable.” 

Stiles blew out a breath and rubbed his face. “Okay. So, what now? What kind of mojo do I have to use to seal the deal?” 

“None right now. I believe we should sleep on it. You’re done for and I don’t want to rush it. The Argents can wait a day.” 

“Oh, okay. It’s probably a good idea. I’ll have to call my dad if Derek’s already asleep, though, since I didn't bring my car. Think I could get something to drink until he’s here?” A little disappointed, Stiles watched the mountain ash reluctantly slither back to Peter and vanish into his mouth. 

Peter, who didn't even twitch at the intrusion, sauntered to the kitchen. “There’s no need to disrupt your father’s shift. I have a guest room, if you feel comfortable staying here. Tea?” 

A little perplexed, Stiles automatically muttered, “Sure. I, uh, I’ll ask my dad if he’s okay with it.” 

“Tell him that Derek and Isaac are present,” Peter advised. “They might not be in the same apartment, but with their hearing they are more than able to chaperone you.” 

“God, I’ll kill my dad,” Stiles whined. He sent the message and then proceeded to bite his thumbnail down to the skin as he anxiously waited for a reply. 

“Don’t do that,” Peter admonished and took the hand out of Stiles’ mouth. His gentle hold on Stiles’ fingers was accompanied by the vanishing of the slight sting. “You’re bleeding.” 

“Oh.” A bit dumbly, Stiles stared at the red liquid welling up from underneath his nail. “Sorry.” 

“I’ll drive you home if your father doesn’t agree,” Peter said calmly. “Or Derek will; he’s still awake. Don’t worry so much about inconsequential things.” He gave Stiles’ palm one reassuring rub with his thumb and then let go. 

Stiles didn’t think that potentially harming Peter’s good name and standing in society was an _inconsequential thing_ , especially since he was already a person of interest for various other reasons, but decided not to argue the point. Instead he sat down on the couch and let Peter choose their TV program. 

“A home remodelling show?” Stiles asked with a little grin. 

“My good taste wasn’t _just_ developed in the womb, you know,” Peter retorted haughtily. 

They watched for a good twenty minutes, drinking their tea and ribbing each other about their taste in furniture and colour coordination. 

At last, Stiles’ phone chimed. With the tone the easy camaraderie gave way to wary resignation. 

“It’s my dad,” Stiles said, shoulders drooping in resignation. “I need to go home. He asks that Derek drives me.” 

“It’s fine, Stiles,” Peter said, catching and holding Stiles’ gaze with his red-hued eyes. “It won’t be long until you can make your own decisions. There’ll always be a room free for you.” 

Stiles nodded and stood when Derek hammered against the massive apartment door. “See you tomorrow?” 

“Come to breakfast,” Peter offered. He placed a warm hand against Stiles’ neck and just let it rest there for a moment. “You can help rope the heathens into witnessing the acceptance of the offer after all.” 

Relieved that Peter seemed rather invested in not making things awkward between them, Stiles offered a grateful, “I will, thanks,” and, before he could lose his nerve, clapped a hand onto Peter’s shoulder to return the scenting. 

On the way home, Derek was quiet for the longest time, but when he’d stopped in front of Stiles’ house he said, “Peter’s right, Stiles. We’re not going anywhere.” 

It was that quiet conviction that had Stiles float through his nightly bathroom routine and into a restful sleep. Lydia’s weird behaviour didn’t even really register anymore when he was so thoroughly assured of the pack’s friendship. 

**End of chapter 40**


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's really taking me ages lately to post new chapters, sigh. But the heat is gone and I expect to get back into the swing of things now. Autumn is my favourite writing time for a reason; it's so easy to curl up inside when the weather is grey and wet and get creative. :)

**Chapter 41**

  
  


Stiles was downright impatient the next morning and left the house as soon as his father had come home and gone to sleep. He left a note on the fridge door so the man wouldn’t have a heart attack when he found his son missing, but that was all the courtesy Stiles was willing to extend. Finalizing the agreement with the Argent clan was far more important right now, and frankly, he was also a little pissed with his father for not trusting him enough to be a responsible near-adult. 

Plus, Stiles was so looking forward to breakfast. For all that Peter was a health nut, his low carb waffles and generous amounts of organic bacon were the food of the gods. Never mind the rest of the stuff that graced Peter’s table. 

The drive through Beacon Hills this early on a Sunday was quiet and completely unhindered by red lights or other drivers. Stiles made such a good time that he decided to stop at everyone’s favourite bakery and get a few croissants and eclairs before invading the apartment. 

The decision proved to be a good one because the smell of the fresh pastries lured both Derek and Isaac from Derek’s more or less illegally appropriated den on the second floor, and like the sleepy puppies they were they greeted Stiles with warm hugs and contented cheek rubs. In Derek’s case that meant a serious case of beard burn, but Stiles just grinned and handed his beta - and it would _never_ get old that he had a beta now - an eclair as reward. 

“You’re so mean,” Isaac whined. “Why can’t I have a treat, too?” 

“Because Peter would disembowel us both,” Stiles snarked back. “You can ask him in a minute, dude.” 

Isaac grumbled all the way up, practically glued to Stiles’ side. The door to Peter’s apartment stood wide open and the delicious smell of coffee and cooking bacon wafted into their noses. 

“Good morning,” Peter greeted, dressed in an old black band T-shirt, dark blue shorts, and a dark apron proclaiming him a god among chefs. He casually flipped an omelette and then pointed at the table where plates and cutlery were waiting to be placed. “If you would?” 

“Sure.” Stiles dropped his backpack by the door. “I’ll just place this really unhealthy stuff with the gluten free toast.” 

“Feel right at home, you little shit,” Peter said fondly. “Give Isaac his croissant before he starts a riot.” 

Isaac cheered, practically ripped the bag with the pastries out of Stiles’ hands, and skipped over to the coffee machine to make himself a triple shot latte. 

“Why did you stay up so late?” Stiles asked the other teen, snorting about Isaac’s impatient bouncing. “You’re almost worse than me on too little sleep and too much caffeine.” 

Peter let his omelette glide onto a plate and beckoned Stiles over for a short one-armed hug. “They binged Numb3rs until three in the morning and decided to research some of the methods because they thought it’d be fun.” 

“Were drugs involved?” Stiles wondered, stealing a slice of pepper and popping it in his mouth. 

“No, just the common youthful recklessness. What do you want on your omelette?” 

“Everything,” Stiles said immediately. “Except mushrooms because ewww.” 

“Heathen,” Peter chided. 

“Snob,” Stiles shot back and wandered off to get his own latte macchiato. 

Once there, Derek loomed at his shoulder, wordlessly first staring at the brushed steel and chrome monstrosity and then looking meaningfully at Stiles. 

“You still haven’t repaired my jeep,” Stiles reminded him as he measured a spoonful of vanilla sirup into a glass. “Bad puppy.” 

“I needed to order some parts first,” Derek rumbled, leaning further against Stiles and nearly overwhelming him with his weight. “They’ll arrive next week. I’ll deal with her when you’re taking exams so Isaac will come pick you up with his bike on those days.” 

“Oh. Okay then.” Stiles pressed the button and watched a beautiful latte materialize. Handing it over to Derek he added, “Sorry for being mean, Sourwolf.” 

“You weren’t mean,” Derek told him. He wandered off to help Isaac set the table, though not without casually rubbing his cheek against Stiles’ shoulder first. 

Something warm bloomed in Stiles’ midsection and he couldn’t help but grin with pleasure. He might never get around to taking the bite but he adored being friends with werewolves. As physical as they were in showing their affection, Stiles hardly ever had to wonder where he stood. Even Peter had thawed considerably over the nearly five months they’d known each other and what Stiles got to discover underneath that slightly creepy exterior was …

_Nope, not gonna go there_ , Stiles told himself, cutting that thought off rigorously. 

“You’re spoiling him,” Peter commented, interrupting Stiles’ internal self-flagellation. With deft movements he sprinkled cheese, ham, little cubes of red and green pepper, and half a handful of herbs onto the egg in the pan. A healthy pinch of salt followed and, when Stiles nodded, a sprinkle of black pepper as well. “He’ll get used to it if you keep it up.” 

“So what,” Stiles replied with a shrug. “He’s family now and I tend to coddle the shit out of my family.” 

The answer didn’t seem to surprise Peter in the slightest. He merely hummed quietly in response and folded Stiles’ omelette with a deft flick of his spatula. 

“Anyway, can I help with something?” Stiles asked, gesticulating at the work top. 

“You could make me a coffee, since you know how I drink it,” Peter said. “Other than that you can just sit down and make sure the brats don’t eat everything before I get there.” 

“Will do, Big Bad.” 

Stiles prepared a caramel latte for Peter, taking it and his omelette to the table and sat where Derek pointed. There was already freshly squeezed orange juice in his glass, just waiting to be watered down with Peter’s fancy spring water from Fiji, and someone had thoughtfully placed one of the croissants onto his plate. 

“The waffles and bacon are in the oven,” Derek told him. “I’ll get them when Peter’s done cooking, but you can start eating if you’re hungry.” 

“Nah, I’m good,” Stiles said, with his eyes devouring all the delicious things already on the table. “We’ll wait until everything is ready.” 

Isaac, who’d just reached for an eclair, huffily leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Fine.” 

“Dude, he’s literally cooking for you right now. Don’t be an ass.” Stiles kicked the other boy underneath the table. “No sleep makes Isaac a very grumpy puppy.” 

Wolfing out, Isaac showed off his sharp teeth and glowing eyes, but Stiles’ heart didn’t even skip a beat. The corners of Derek’s mouth turned up a little and Isaac gave up the transformation to sulk some more. 

Not too long after, Peter delivered more omelettes and Derek went to get the waffles and bacon from the oven. It was all very domestic, so Stiles snapped a selfie with the others in the background and cackled when he discovered Isaac’s dark scowl and Derek’s unimpressed eyebrow-lift in the picture. Peter, however, was just smiling slightly, a hint of red in his irises. 

“What?” Stiles asked the staring werewolves. “The feast has been served, you may eat et cetera.” 

Snorting, Peter picked up his fork and inhaled a large chunk of his omelette, followed by a sip of coffee. 

Stiles expected Isaac to pounce, but he surprised Stiles by staring expectantly at him instead. 

“What?” Stiles demanded. 

“I thought you were hungry,” Derek said casually, and yes, Stiles’ stomach chose that exact moment to growl loudly. 

“Right,” he replied, flushing with embarrassment. Hastily he shoved a bite of his eggs into his mouth and moaned with bliss when the taste of buttery French cheese and fresh herbs exploded on his tongue. “Uh, wow, the Almighty Father must’ve forgiven all my sins because this is heaven.” 

“Why, thank you, Stiles,” Peter purred. He leaned back and took another sip of his latte, eyes firmly on Stiles as he enjoyed his food. “It’s always nice to be appreciated.” 

“Dude, if I appreciate you any harder I might lose my mind,” Stiles mumbled through a mouthful of bacon-and-butter-topped waffle that simply couldn’t wait a second longer. 

Peter’s smug smile widened. “Wouldn’t that be a sight.” 

“Ugh, please stop,” Isaac complained. He finally grabbed the eclair he’d been eyeing. “You’re both disgusting.” 

“Whatever did I say, Isaac?” Peter asked innocently. 

Derek paused in his chewing and glared at his uncle. “Seriously?” 

“What?” Stiles asked, bemused at the suddenly smouldering hostility between the werewolves. “Can’t a dude even compliment some seriously awesome food anymore? If so, I want out of this sorry club pronto, sheesh. No one needs toxic masculinity.” 

“Never mind my dear nephew, Stiles,” Peter said smoothly. “He obviously got up on the wrong foot ... both of them. Breakfast will hopefully improve their disposition.” 

“Not likely,” Derek grumped, but he went back to emptying his plate and dropped the subject. 

“No, don’t ask,” Isaac said somewhat sharply before Stiles had a chance to reply. “It’s not worth it.” 

Stiles begged to differ, but he didn’t want to ruin the morning by demanding an explanation and provoking an uncomfortable discussion. Unfortunately, however, he wasn’t wired that way; letting things go just wasn’t in his nature. Therefore, the next best thing was a change of topic and he chose the safe option of their little magic shop on Etsy. He’d wanted to grill Peter on the legalities anyway so this time was as good as any. 

“You could probably front it,” Stiles allowed after Peter had scoffed at the notion of handing out a business loan, “but we don’t even need all that much to get started so it’s not like we can’t pay it back eventually. I mean, there must be people out there who are willing to buy our stuff. As soon as they’ve discovered us, word of mouth should do the trick.” 

“You’d be surprised how many online sellers claim to offer the real deal, only to disappoint those in need,” Peter replied. “For that reason it’ll probably take some time for your business to take off and I don’t want you to stress yourself out because your products aren’t selling well immediately. We’ve got the Argent money to acquire the things you need without you having to pay anything back.” 

“But I want it to be _our_ baby,” Stiles insisted. “I want to build it up myself, and finance it, and care for it. So, we’ll need a loan, especially for the drawing and image processing stuff Isaac will need for his artwork, and I don’t mind borrowing from you, but I _really_ need to pay you back sooner or later. Okay?” 

Peter sighed long-sufferingly. “Fine. Write up a business plan, if you must, and let me see it once your exams are over. I won’t discuss this any further before then; your summer holidays will be here soon enough and like it or not, but you’ll still need at least some sort of rest before you dive headfirst into this venture.” 

“Can I write a list of the things I’ll need?” Isaac asked. He topped his waffles with an indecent amount of bacon and doused the whole thing with maple sirup. “I’ve already decided on a specific light-table and scanner, and I’ll need a better computer, too. More traditional painting supplies wouldn’t hurt, either.” 

“Since I told you that you’d get some of those things anyway, I’ll help with that,” Peter said. “If you also use them for work, that’s one less expense you’ll have to worry about right now. Going forward I’ll explain tax write-offs to you if that crazy econ teacher hasn’t done so already.” 

“Finstock may be crazy, but he knows his stuff,” Isaac said with a grin. 

“We rather need to figure out what to pay Derek,” Stiles added, “because I’m pants at estimating value and shit. But he got beat up pretty badly on the regular this past half year and he probably knows best what regular supernaturals really want and need.” 

“You could pay me on a consulting basis,” Derek offered. “Just pay me by the hour and call it good.” 

“If you’re good with that, sure,” Stiles said gratefully, mentally ticking off that point on his to-do list. “Peter, will you figure something out for Isaac? I’ve no idea what would be better, paying for the individual artwork or letting him have a cut of the profit.” 

“Certainly,” Peter agreed. “After your exams I’ll have the contracts drawn up and ready for your approval. A word of warning, Stiles: you’ll need your father’s permission if you want to start the shop under your own power. If you’re comfortable with Derek or I stepping in until you’re of age, we can do that, too.” 

“Whatever’s easier,” Stiles said. “I trust you to turn it over to me when the time comes, so if my dad’s not enthusiastic, it won’t stop us.” 

“You should also figure out a solid secret identity,” Derek said. “There’s no way we want someone stalking you or worse, once your work becomes known in the community.” He frowned. “And we need to figure out how to best mail the orders so we won’t give away our location.” 

“All very good points,” Peter agreed. “Seems like Stiles will have a full time position for you, after all. With his assent, I’d like to put you in charge of security, and, as it becomes pertinent, logistics. Our pack is very small, but at this point I’m not eager to add more bodies just for the sake of shoring up our numbers for cheap labour.” 

“Yep, quality before quantity,” Stiles said and crunched on a strip of bacon. “I’m game if you are, Sourwolf, so what do you think?” 

“I’ve got nothing better to do,” Derek replied with a little shrug. “When do I start?” 

Stiles considered his options. “Since we’ll only really start work in June, let’s say the first? We’ll figure out a salary until then.” 

Everyone was content with that, although Isaac did remind Stiles that they’d need to buy a good, efficient printer at one point, if not a small printing press, if they didn’t want to pay a third party good money for their services. 

“I already have ideas for different types of paper, and how the colours work on each of them,” Isaac finished his little speech. “I thought really cheap and grungy looking for the fast and dirty types of spells we sell, and good stock paper for bookmarks or other longer-lasting stuff like that. I could also do custom work for people who can afford it.” 

“Maybe you should start a journal with your ideas,” Peter suggested. “You seem to have an abundance of them.” 

“And I want samples,” Stiles said. “Plus, I want to offer bracelets and stuff so we’ll need to find a good source for those. I need to be able to individualize them a little, and no cheap crap from who knows where. Those gotta be durable and non-toxic, what with the shenanigans you supernaturals get up to.” 

Peter picked up his eclair and pried it apart to get to the cream in the middle. “That’ll all be in Derek’s domain, the way I see it,” he said, “and I’m sure he’ll be able to find just what you’re looking for.” With gusto he dipped a finger into the sweet mess and licked it clean. “Hmm, Marsha never fails to deliver.” 

“I know, right?” Stiles swiped the chocolate-y but nearly cream free top half of the eclair from Peter’s plate and took a big bite. It gave him a not so little thrill that Peter was allowing it. “Strawberry season will start soon and she told me that she’ll go all out this year. There’ll be strawberry danishes, crepes with homemade strawberry jam filling, cakes, cupcakes with strawberry everything, cookies with bits of freeze-dried strawberry in them, strawberry compote for diy bakers ...” 

“You think I could invest some of my pocket money in the bakery?” Isaac asked with a longing groan. “Make her pay out my dividends in baked goods?” 

“You can always ask,” Peter said. “She might even agree, she’s part brownie after all.” 

“She’s _what_ now?” Stiles asked, flabbergasted. “Really?” 

“Really.” Peter smirked. “But only a small part, which is probably why your new magic spidey sense didn’t pick up on it yet. She enjoys the labour, but she also quite enjoys the money and the popularity. She definitely isn’t a threat, unless you’re afraid for the state of your waistline.” 

Stiles goggled at him some more and then shook his head to snap himself out of it. “Anyway, back to Isaac’s ideas. Dude, why have you thought so much about it when I haven’t?” 

“Because art is my thing, not yours,” Isaac replied easily. “Speaking of which, there’s no reason not to combine art with climate protection, so how about ecologically produced, quickly degradable paper and organic ink for the really cheap stuff that gets thrown out after one use? We could use paper made of hemp, and I’ve even thought that we could put some seeds in it so flowers will grow after a while.” 

“Isaac …” Stiles stared at the other teen. “That’s actually _amazing_ and I’m so down for it.” He turned to Peter. “This is me changing my mind, right here, right now. I still want to pay back your loan, but we might need a lot more money than I thought. If Isaac’s got a plan for branding and stuff, we should do it right.” 

Isaac glowed quietly from the praise and ducked his head shyly. 

“I’m on board,” Peter said easily. “What else do you have in mind to make your products as eco-friendly and sustainable as possible? I’m not going to lie, a lot of potential customers could be sprites, and they take things like that very seriously. Humans taking care of the Earth would win you quite a bit of goodwill. You did very well by thinking of it, Isaac.” 

The boy flushed with pleasure, his wide smile illuminating his face. “Thank you. I researched a little and found this hemp plantation in SoCal that’s making the refuse of their medicinal hemp plants into paper to maximize their output and minimize waste. They’re only starting out so we might get a really good deal. I could also ask whether they plan on offering paper enriched with wildflower seeds, or maybe common vegetables.” 

A thousand possibilities exploded right in front of Stiles’ mind’s eye and he snapped his fingers for a pen and something to write on. As if gripped by the same current of slightly manic energy, Isaac jumped up to get his writing utensils, and a minute later both boys were huddling over their writing pad and volleying ideas back and forth in frantic mutters. 

“Well,” Peter mused, “looks like the Argents will have to wait another day to relieve their conscience.” He smiled toothily. “What do you think, nephew? Do we give them more coffee, or do we cut them off now and hope to get the signing of the contract over with tonight?” 

Derek answered by heading to the coffee maker and preparing two double shot lattes with also double the usual amount of syrup. 

  
  


**End of chapter 41**


	42. Chapter 42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so this is super rough in places, but I've been sick these last few days (it was at least a cold though I wasn't tested for covid, so who knows) and only now managed to finish this chapter. Fair warning: there's talk about grief and guilt and the not so successful dealing therewith within this chapter. If you have issues with depression, you might want to proceed carefully at the end, although in my opinion it's not super bad. 
> 
> Stay safe!

**Chapter 42**

Contrary to Derek’s unvoiced, yet obvious wishes regarding the signing of the Argent agreement, Stiles and Isaac’s creative energy was thoroughly spent by dinner time and their attention naturally turned to the large scroll lying on Peter’s coffee table. 

“It does look important,” Isaac stated as they munched on stir-fried veggies and roast duck from the best Thai place in town. 

“It’s worth nearly twenty million dollars,” Stiles agreed. “In case you didn’t listen in yesterday, Peter and I both think we should sign it ASAP-ish.” 

“ASAP-ish?” Peter questioned, smiling crookedly. “I haven’t heard that one before.” 

“Well, we _should_ do it soon, but we promised to skype with Erica and Boyd today, so that comes first,” Stiles explained and glanced at the clock on his phone. “Erica will pout because it’s gotten so late.” 

“Do we tell them why?” Isaac asked. 

Peter went by to collect his empty plate. “Better leave it until she and Boyd are in the know. Without that context, Stiles telling them about a random pseudo-magic shop he intends to open with your help might seem a bit barmy if you haven’t already told them about it. Besides, I’m a firm believer in keeping things to myself as long as they’re not ready to be set in motion.” 

“Amen,” Stiles agreed. He finished his food and cheekily stacked his plate on top of the one already in Peter’s hand. “I’ll help with the cleanup and you call Erica, Isaac. Let’s see whether there is any news about Lydia and Jackson.” 

It only took a few minutes to load the dishwasher and wipe down the coffee table, but Erica apparently had been laying in wait and had immediately accepted Isaac’s call. 

“Where _are_ you?” she demanded to know, craning her head to peer around Isaac’s face. Next to her, Boyd looked equally curious, which was a little weird. “That’s not Stiles’ house, and it’s not a diner either.” 

“I’m at home,” Isaac huffed with an eye roll. “Peter’s got delusions of home decor grandeur.” 

“Ooooh,” Erica hooted. “Give us a tour!” 

“Can I, Peter?” Isaac asked. 

“Stay in the public spaces,” Peter returned affably. “Hello Erica, Boyd. It’s good to see you again.” 

“Hi,” Erica purred, accepting Boyd’s little cuff against the arm without complaint. After a moment of Isaac carrying the laptop around the den, kitchen, and his room, she said, “Your home looks awesome. Very industrial, but the furniture is almost shabby chic. And I dig the couch! Is it suede?” 

“It is,” Peter said, smirking at Stiles who was busy knotting a full trash bag. “How do you like the cobalt blue?” 

“I love it; it looks great with the white furniture and plants all around. Isaac, let me see the art print … nice! Rome’s definitely on my bucket list.” 

They chatted for a bit longer and when Stiles was done with his chore Peter excused himself to attend some paperwork Jackson’s father had sent over while Derek left for a run through the preserve. None of them felt great about going anywhere alone just yet, but not patrolling the territory was even worse for a werewolf. 

“They’re both still hot like burning,” Erica said conspiratorially, earning herself another cuff from Boyd. “Oh stuff it, you know I’m right, honey bear.” 

“ _Honey bear_ ,” Stiles snickered. 

“I wouldn’t tease him if I were you,” Erica said cheerfully. “So, are you two interested in gossip?” 

“Sure, fire away!” Stiles grabbed his glass of water and expectantly settled down next to Isaac. “What went down after we left?” 

“First of all, Jackson left maybe fifteen minutes after you did, and wasn’t shy about telling us why when we asked,” Boyd told them. 

“And then _Lydia_ ,” Erica went on dramatically, “had an absolute screaming fit when one of those college douches nearly drowned in the pool. He was completely drunk, mind, and his friends got him out in time, but that scream was something else.” 

“Could’ve woken the dead,” Boyd agreed calmly. 

Erica snorted inelegantly. “It did wake a couple of neighbours, and they called the police, who then called an ambulance for the nearly drowned idiot.” 

“Wow, sounds like a great finale to the party,” Stiles commented. A slight shiver went up his arms. “When was this?” 

“After eleven,” Erica promptly supplied. “By the way, Isaac, that blond gym junkie girl was asking about you. She gave me her number, in case you wanted to get together.” 

Isaac’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull in horrified surprise. “What?” 

“She must be crazy, the way you insulted her all evening, but maybe she’s into it.” Erica grinned. “I’m not kink shaming anyone, just so you know.” 

“Burn it, yeah?” Isaac said roughly. 

Boyd held a slip of paper with a number on it into the camera and ripped it into confetti. “She was too old for you anyway.” 

“So what did Lydia really want? We don’t think Jackson lied, but he wasn’t all that forthcoming, either,” Erica asked. “Don’t look at me like that, Stiles. You were gone, she follows, and afterwards you’re leaving in a hurry? Doesn’t take a genius to figure out that something went down.” 

“What she said,” Boyd added. 

Stiles’ face heated up a little. “Uh, well, Lydia _did_ sort of propose that we become, er, friendly, only she didn’t want to break up with Jackson-” 

“That utter slag,” Erica said derisively, causing Boyd to side-eye her. “Yeah, yeah, boo, I’m not a poster girl for morality, but come on. Looking for outside fun without everyone being on board is super shitty.” 

“I know, right!” Stiles cried and flailed a little. Next to Erica, Boyd relaxed again. “Jackson obviously wasn’t on board with that either, so Isaac and I left before more drama could occur.” 

“Since I was being stalked by a cougar college girl anyway and all,” Isaac supplied dryly. 

“Do you know what’s gotten into Lydia to pull such a stunt?” Erica pressed. “No offence, but everybody knows just how much you’re not her type, Stiles. I honestly had trouble sleeping because it was so weird.” 

Stiles decided to throw them both a bone and said, “I guess it’s got to do with the attack in January. She was really sick for a while, and I guess the trauma’s still there. Since I’m connected to the town sheriff, she could see me as someone safe or something. Wouldn’t even be the first time.” 

“People are so weird,” Boyd said. 

“I feel sorry for her,” Stiles replied. “She probably doesn’t have any real friends if she thinks that pimping herself out is the way to go. But enough of that. Did your first date go alright? Will you give the relationship thing a try?” 

Erica blushed a little and glanced at Boyd. “Well, yes. We’ve talked about it. Is that really okay? We don’t want things to get weird just when we’ve become friends.” 

“Are you kidding me?” Isaac asked. “That’s the best news we’ve had in weeks!” 

“Seriously,” Stiles insisted when Erica failed to look relieved. “You said it: we’re _friends_. Maybe it won’t work out between you, but so what? As long as you two don’t hate each other, we’ll all _stay_ friends.” He lifted his wrist with the friendship bracelet on it. “I gave you those for a reason, okay?” 

“Okay, Batman,” Erica answered, smiling brilliantly as she raised her own wrist. “We’re the four musketeers. One for all and all for one.” 

“Sounds good,” Boyd said quietly, but firmly, going as far as showing off his own bracelet. 

“Yep,” Isaac agreed and all four of them gently bumped their bracelets to the screen of their laptop to seal their vow of friendship. 

“Now that we’re sworn in … can someone _please_ explain vectors to me?” Erica begged. “I know I said that I’m prepared for the exams, but when I went over it this morning, I realized that I am hopeless.” 

“Maybe it’s just nerves,” Isaac said. “You’re good at math.” 

“I am, but not at vectors,” Erica whined. “Please help, I don’t want to bomb the test.” 

“It’s a bit late, but I’ll do what I can. What’s your worst area?” Stiles asked. 

When Erica confessed that nearly all of it sounded like Greek to her, Stiles and Isaac settled in for a long evening of last-minute cramming. 

Needless to say, the Argent agreement had to take a backseat, again, not that any of them minded very much. 

oOo

Ever since the sheriff had the home security system installed and invoked the restriction on Stiles meeting Peter alone in someone’s home, Peter’s unannounced visits had all but stopped, but that didn’t keep them from calling and texting all through next week, and for Stiles to spend his afternoons and evenings at Peter’s with Isaac, as well as Erica and Boyd, who had been allowed to join them for some more revision. 

“It’s cool that Peter’s allowing you to have friends over,” Erica said to Isaac as they all lounged around the coffee table and solved chemistry equations on study sheets Stiles had dug up. “I thought he’d maybe want to wait a little longer.” 

“Nah, he’s good with you two,” Isaac returned, absently writing out his solution. “He asked the sheriff for a minor background check.” 

Erica cried, “He did not!” 

“Actually, he did,” Stiles said with a smirk. “I should know, he asked me to play messenger to keep it below the radar.” 

Boyd snorted. “I’m not surprised.” 

“Well, I am!” Erica said. “I mean, we’re just kids.” 

“Yeah, but look at what Scott did, and he looks like innocence personified,” Stiles said. He accepted Isaac’s worksheet and set about checking his results. “Isaac just got away from his dad so Peter wanted to make sure it’d be okay to leave us alone here.” 

“I’m not mad about it,” Isaac added. “He takes taking care of me seriously, at least.” 

“Yeah, okay,” Erica murmured, flushing a little. “It’s just so weird, knowing that we’ve been _investigated_. I never even shoplifted, I’ll have you know.” 

“If it helps, my dad said that you’re good people to hang out with,” Stiles said with a grin. “High praise indeed, coming from him.” 

Erica was mollified by this, and when it was time for her and Boyd to leave, she hugged both Stiles and Isaac extra hard. 

“Erica took it well enough,” Isaac commented as they lounged on the couch, their warmed up dinner before them and NCIS on TV. “But she might have a problem with Peter’s obsessive need to know everything. It might throw a wrench into our plans to bring her and Boyd in. They’re together now, we can’t leave one of them behind.” 

Stiles shrugged. “Seems to me that she just needs an explanation. Her parents are pretty clingy, so she’s definitely used to it. And it’s not like she resents them for it, so.” 

“Mmh.” Isaac curled up against him. “I’m still worried that they’ll both freak out on us if we ever tell them about the pack.” 

“Yeah, me too,” Stiles admitted. On screen, Gibbs was head slapping DiNozzo. “Wow, that’ll never not be shitty. I wonder why Tony isn’t leaving the team already. Why are we watching this, again?” 

“Because I refuse to watch _home improvement_ ,” Isaac shot back immediately. “Speaking of which, I’ll be glad when the Argent agreement is finally countersigned.” He pointed at the scroll that was lying on the sideboard. While it had pride of place there, it also looked a little menacing, and Stiles supposed that the scent of the blood infused ink was unsettling for Isaac. “I don’t wanna imagine how pissed the Argents are right now because you’re making them wait.” 

“Peter and I are on it,” Stiles defended himself. “Like, really. It’ll probably happen this weekend, once the worst of the exams are out of the way. Plus, you know that our stuff is important, too, dude. Speaking of which, I decided that we won’t need to buy a specialty press for the metallic print on the cards just yet. We can use self-inking stamps until our business has grown enough to make it worth it. One stamp costs maybe thirty dollars, if that. I just need to design the runes and we’re good to go.” 

“Sounds good,” Isaac said. “I’ll write it into our journal once you’ve sent me the numbers.” 

They sat in silence for a little while, enjoying their food and following the show. Near the end of the episode, Peter and Derek returned, both looking dirty and a little dishevelled.

“What happened to you?” Stiles asked, staring. “Did you fight someone in the preserve?” 

“No,” Derek said and promptly vanished into the bathroom. 

“We made use of the fact that there are no Argents in Beacon Hills right now and went to cut off dear Kate’s head from her body before the cemetery's security cameras are activated for the night,” Peter said. “I remember telling you that beheading is the single best method of ensuring that a fallen enemy stays dead.” 

Stiles shuddered. “Yuck, that can’t have been fun.” 

Peter’s toothy grin was a little on the feral side as he replied, “Au contraire, Stiles. It gave me a great deal of satisfaction to rip her malicious head off her shoulders and toss it into a ravine in the closed part of the preserve. The animals will take care of it for us.” 

“Okay,” Stiles managed to say with some measure of equanimity. He’d known that this would happen sooner or later, but now that he was being confronted with it, it was a little … arresting. “How did Derek take it? He didn’t look too happy.” 

“This wasn’t about making Derek _happy_ ,” Peter said. “It was about putting an end to the woman who so callously destroyed our family once and for all. Even if it was tough on him, it’ll be good to have closure.” 

“You didn’t force him to help you, right?” Stiles asked quietly, which had Isaac glaring at him a little. 

Peter didn’t look offended, though. “He offered, actually, when I informed him of my plans for tonight. It was a surprise, but a good one.” 

“I guess he’s glad that she won’t ever come back now,” Stiles offered by way of apology. 

“I don’t know about that. A heart can be very difficult to convince, unfortunately,” Peter answered. “On that account, I’d appreciate it if you could take Derek home with you tonight, if your father will allow it.” 

“Sure, we’re due some bro time anyway.” Stiles set aside his plate and began texting. “That way he won’t even have to come over tomorrow morning to finish the repairs on the jeep.” 

“Win-win,” Peter said and smiled smugly. “And now excuse me, I need to scrub off the grave dirt before your father’s people catch wind of my evening activities and decide to come look for clues here.” 

He locked himself in the second bathroom and Isaac poked Stiles hard into the ribs. 

“Dude, you know he’d never force Derek into something like that,” he hissed. 

Stiles slapped the offending hand away. “Derek is _mine_. I had to make sure, okay.” 

That brought Isaac up short. “Oh. Right. I guess I understand that,” he said reluctantly. “But it’s still uncool to question Peter like that.” 

“I didn’t like asking, either,” Stiles confessed. “It’s kind of weird to think of myself as an alpha, what without being a werewolf, so it’s no wonder you feel the same.” 

“Yeah, well.” Isaac stabbed his food with his fork, frowning a little. “It’s not that, exactly.” 

Stiles nudged the other teen’s shoulder with his when he trailed off. “Then what is it?” 

Isaac shrugged unhappily. “Dunno. There’s still a lot I don’t understand about this whole werewolf thing. _Unfortunately_.”

Despite his curiosity, Stiles snorted with laughter at his thoroughly put out expression. “You and me both, dude.” Noticing that the episode of NCIS was nearly over, he asked, “Can we watch something else now? I sort of hate Gibbs and his god complex.” 

“Fine,” Isaac huffed. “But no reality shows and assorted crap.” 

“How about Xena?” Stiles offered. “Hot babes, lots of fights … should be right up your alley.” 

Isaac considered the offer for a moment before agreeing. “Xena’s okay, I guess. We should be able to get one episode in before you need to go home. But next time it’s my turn again!” 

oOo

Thankfully the sheriff had no problem with Derek keeping Stiles company after their talk the other day. In fact, his answering message to Stiles made it clear that he actually appreciated the werewolf’s presence since he would be kept at work well into the night due to several simultaneous break-ins into Beacon Hill’s more exclusive shops. 

“Seems like some new group is trying to stake out a territory in the area,” Stiles said as he threw on his hoodie and slipped into his worn out sneakers. “Apparently they’re pretty agressive; my dad’s concerned that they might get violent with people too, if they manage to settle down.” 

Peter inclined his head. “They might target the families of law enforcement officers especially, if they are determined to make it happen.” 

“Yeah, exactly. Lots of gangs use this tactic, but most try corruption first, at least. They won’t have much luck here, though, which is kind of unfortunate.” Stiles grimaced. “I hope my dad’s people can chase them off, or better yet, lock them up. We don’t need these assholes here with all the other shit that’s still going on.” 

“I quite agree,” Peter said. “I will tap my contacts among my former colleagues and the sheriff station to find out more, and I will also try to get more intel on these people as time allows.” He smiled sharply. “Who knows, maybe I’ll be able to be of service to the public after they’ve worked so hard to restore my life to me.” 

Stiles nearly laughed at the thought of Peter barging into the gang’s secret hideout and mowing them all down like a tasmanian devil. “I’m rooting for you. Also, pics if you can manage.” 

“Don’t encourage him,” Derek rumbled and steered Stiles to the door. “See you tomorrow morning, Isaac.” 

Isaac saluted from his place on the couch where he was scribbling into a sketch book. “Should I bring breakfast?” 

“No,” Derek said flatly. He nodded at Peter and then shoved Stiles out of the apartment, letting the door slam shut behind them. 

“Ow, what’s up, Sourwolf?” Stiles asked, rubbing his arm a little. “Did someone step on your tail?” 

More careful now, Derek led him down the stairs and to the car. Only when they’d buckled themselves in did he relax a little. 

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. He closed his eyes and let his head fall against the headrest. “I feel … raw. After what we did to Kate’s … to Kate.” 

Stiles grimaced. “I thought you would. Will you be okay?” 

Derek opened his eyes again, staring out of the windshield. “I don’t know.” 

“You loved her,” Stiles said softly. “Before she betrayed you.” 

It was heartbreaking to see Derek work to keep up his stoic facade. “I tried to tell myself that I didn’t, not really,” he whispered. “That soon after Paige.” 

“But you did.” Stiles exhaled, a little shocked to have this talk in Peter and Isaac’s range of hearing. “Is that what Peter meant by what he said about the heart not being easily convinced?” 

Derek just nodded. 

Stiles pondered this for a long moment. At last he offered, “I think I get it.” 

“Do you?” Derek asked bitterly. “Because I _don’t_. I feel like a sick bastard for still-” He broke off abruptly, jaw clenching furiously. 

“Mourning her?” Stiles asked gently. He wanted to touch Derek so badly, to offer a hug or, better yet, a long cuddle to make his worries go away, but he refrained for fear of making Derek run. 

“Yes.” Derek’s voice was scratchy. “Helping Peter do … that … it was painful. I couldn’t touch her. I never could, after my family’s death.” 

For a while they just sat there, breathing in and out and processing what Derek had said. 

“I still get it,” Stiles finally said. He felt very clear and calm, which was odd, considering how much he had hated Kate Argent. 

“How?” Derek asked. His eyes settled on Stiles, searching his face intently. 

“My mom.” Stiles licked his dry lips. “You know how she was sick before she did, yeah? Frontotemporal dementia. Well, she’d forget things at first, but after a while she also became aggressive and violent. It was scary. A couple of time she came close to really hurting me or my dad … sometimes I fucking hated her for changing so much. For forgetting to be my mom and instead being this _demon_.” He inhaled and worked to relax his tense shoulders. “After she died it took me ages to understand that it was okay to mourn her and hate the person she’d become at the same time, even if it feels like the worst betrayal.” 

“It’s different,” Derek said roughly. “She was your _mom_. She didn’t choose to betray and hurt you.” 

“Believe me, that doesn’t make as big a difference as you think,” Stiles replied. He grabbed Derek’s hand and held it tightly. “In the end all that matters is how she was _before_. You loved her and that’s okay, because your feelings were honest and based on what she allowed you to know about her, and how she helped you deal with Paige’s death. You mourn _that_ Kate, which really is okay. She must’ve been pretty great, her being too old for you aside.” 

“She was,” Derek whispered. “She seemed so … wise. She really did help me with working through everything. She was warm, and caring and …” He flushed a little. “It wasn’t really about sex, you know.” 

Stiles sighed. “I actually thought so, yeah. I mean, first of all your family probably would’ve smelled that on you if it had happened too often, but you also just don’t seem like the type.” 

“I just want it to stop,” Derek said tiredly. “I don’t want to miss her, or mourn her death, or wish that things could’ve been different.” 

Stiles realized then that Derek was one of those people who, when they fell in love, fell _hard_ and gave it their all. It was such a startling revelation because usually people with Derek’s looks weren’t looking for long-term relationships but trying to bag as many conquests as they could before eventually settling down with someone just as attractive as them. 

“You’ll be able to move on one day,” Stiles said. “It sounds shitty when you’re feeling so badly about it, and it’ll probably take a long while, but eventually you’ll be in a good place to try again.” He held Derek’s hand a little more tightly and leaned against him. “Just introduce your potential flames to us first and let us do a _thorough_ background search first before settling down, yeah?” 

The corner of Derek’s mouth turned up the tiniest bit. “Sounds perfect.” He returned Stiles’ squeeze of the hand before freeing himself and starting the motor. “Let’s go home.” 

**End of chapter 42**


	43. Chapter 43

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet some more slice of life, sort of, but not for much longer. I hope you'll enjoy the chapter anyway.

**Chapter 43**

Stiles shamelessly ordered Derek into his bed, his father’s potential displeasure be hanged, and cuddled him so possessively that it almost felt like he’d enveloped the man with his _soul_. Whatever sexual attraction Stiles might have harboured for Derek’s truly very attractive body withered away in that moment, never to be recovered, and Stiles waved it goodbye without any regrets. 

Derek for his part settled down remarkably well after their emotional bloodletting earlier and hugged back just as tightly. 

Sleep was deep and restful for Stiles, though when he woke the next morning he had a vague feeling of maybe having shared a dream with Derek. The look the werewolf gave him was a little puzzled, and just long enough to convey his own thoughts on the matter without having to say a word. 

Stiles used the bathroom first to get ready for school and entered the kitchen to a scene straight out of a mildly horrifying teenage nightmare. 

His dad sat at the table cleaning a gun, although he couldn’t have been home for longer than four or five hours. The large pot of coffee by his elbow certainly spoke of his fatigue. 

“Hey pops,” Stiles said warily. “Everything alright?” 

“You tell me,” John replied calmly. 

“Uhm, yeah. We’re just peachy.” Stiles sidled up to the counter and snagged the half-empty glass of orange juice Derek had parked there while he cooked eggs and made toast. “How did it go with the gang last night?” 

“Managed to catch a couple of the guys, but not enough to make a difference yet,” his father replied. “Now kindly explain why Hale didn’t use the guestroom?” 

“Dad,” Stiles groaned. “Can you please stop with the accusations?” 

“It’s not an accusation, kid,” John returned evenly, “but I’m worried. You’re underage, and while I’m willing to make exceptions as they are necessary to protect you, I also need it to be above reproach.” He put his weapon down on the cloth he’d spread out to protect the table from gun oil smears. “It’s not about me being elected into office again. It’s also very much not about you not being allowed to experience … stuff. I know that you’re very responsible where it counts, most of the time. It’s just that I need, _really_ need to be able to look at myself in the mirror and not see someone who neglected his kid so badly that he sought solace in the arms of an adult who might exploit him.” 

Stiles snapped his mouth shut, feeling a hot burn of shame and confusion rise in his cheeks. 

The sheriff turned to Derek, who’d halted his stirring and was following the conversation warily. 

“Not that you would, Derek. I do trust you with my family, otherwise you wouldn’t be here. But I don’t trust everyone else. I don’t trust our well meaning neighbours not to report attractive adult visitors while I’m gone in the evenings or overnight, and I really don’t trust Scott’s defence not to twist whatever news of that nature they can acquire to their own advantage.” 

“I know that, dad,” Stiles forced out. “I understood that the first time you said it.” 

“And yet Hale is sleeping in your bed,” his father returned and finally looked at Stiles. He exhaled and leaned back a little. “It’s not like I _want_ to keep you from whatever you think you have to do. I _know_ that you’re nearly grown, and that you’ve been taking care of yourself for a long time. As much as I want that to not be true, Dr. Rena is insistently reminding me that trying to take that autonomy away from you now in a misguided attempt to undo the years I’ve failed at being your father would be a recipe for disaster.” 

“Dad, I …” 

“Let me speak my mind, Stiles, so I won’t have to do it again,” John said firmly, but not unkindly. “Fact is that there are a lot of things going on right now that are conflating into this impossible situation.” 

“Impossible for _me_ ,” Stiles muttered angrily. 

“Mostly for you, unfortunately,” his father agreed with a sombre nod. “It’s not fair, and I hate that I can’t give you quarter when it comes to the Hales. It’d be different if Derek were closer to your age, but he’s not. Too much is hinging on all of our reputations so you’ll either have to bear it, or let the chips fall where they may.” 

“You know I wouldn’t do that,” Stiles said immediately, although he didn’t even try to curb his frustration. 

“I know, and that’s why I’m laying down the law now so we can avoid talks like this in the future.” John gestured for Stiles to sit down at the table. “Let’s deal with this like adults, alright?”

Stiles sighed. “Hit me, daddio.” 

The sheriff quirked a brief smile. “Thanks. One, while you are underage, you may not have overnight guests over the age of eighteen when I’m not at home. Two, you may have sleepovers with Erica or Boyd, and with Isaac at Peter’s when one or both of your other friends are also invited. You may also meet the Hales around town as long as it’s for normal stuff like eating lunch or whatever else you would also do with friends your own age. Just don’t let it look too much like a date. Three, I herewith extend your curfew by one hour to midnight when your exams are over. And four, I’ll sign the permission for you to start your online business, although I’d appreciate it if I could be informed regularly how you’re doing, and what security measures you’re implementing for all of your protection. Peter was very clear when he pointed out how sought after you might become, so that’s not negotiable. And that was it.” 

“I … wow, that’s actually rather reasonable,” Stiles said once he’d overcome his intense surprise. “Thanks for not forbidding me to see Peter and Derek.” 

“What, and earn myself your eternal disappointment and hate? Not fucking likely,” his father snorted, breaking the tense atmosphere. “I told you that I don’t actually _want_ to confine you, just that I _have_ to. While I’m not happy about the danger the Hales have brought into our lives, I can only be grateful that you’ve found new, reliable friends in them, and through them others at school, and something that genuinely excites you. You’re so much like your mom … she was crazy about her hobbies as well and would’ve shrivelled up and wasted away if someone had tried to force her to give them up.” 

“Yeah, I remember her puzzles and riddles,” Stiles murmured, a small lump forming in his throat, just like it always did when he remembered his mother longer than just in passing. “They were everywhere.” 

“And her knitting, dear god,” his father added. “Do you remember when she left the basket at the bottom of the stairs and you fell over it as you ran at full tilt through the house? You nearly somersaulting _up_ the stairs looked spectacular, kiddo, that’s no lie.” 

Now that the volatile part of the conversation seemed to be over, Derek turned back to the stove and rescued the scrambled eggs from drying out completely. 

“Can I just ask,” Stiles’ father said after a thoughtful, long look at Derek’s back, “what _exactly_ the relationship between you two is? You looked … intimate when I checked up on you. Hence our talk.” 

“I, uh.” Stiles helplessly looked to Derek, who turned and looked steadily back. 

“Tell him,” Derek said quietly. “I understand that he needs to know. And he deserves to know.” 

Stiles tried to gather his thoughts but it was hard when he barely understood it himself. Clearing his throat, he said, “Derek’s just … mine. Family. Or pack. Like, a brother, and a favourite cousin, and also my best friend, all rolled into one. Not like ...” He halted, trying to search for the right words. “Not like a _pet_ , or something. Just, family. So, it’d be nice if you could just … not hate him for it? Or me? It just happened, but I’m not sorry it did. It’s kind of a werewolf thing, but also a me-thing.” 

“It’s okay,” John interrupted his son’s babbling gently. “I get it.” He glanced once more at Derek. “But hell, kid. The old ladies in our street will never stop bringing pies ‘round when I tell them that we sort of adopted the Hale boy. They’ll want to fatten him up something fierce.” 

Stiles brightened considerably at that. “They will, won’t they? Hah!” He pointed at Derek. “Be prepared for pie awesomeness! The ladies might not have brownie magic, but they could give Marsha a run for her money when it comes to pie. We absolutely have to make the most of it.” 

The sheriff rose then, and went to Derek to clap him on the shoulder. “Sorry for that bit of unpleasantness, and for what it’s worth, welcome to the family. I need to go back to bed, I’m beat.” 

“Sleep well, dad,” Stiles said. 

“Good luck with your exam,” John returned. “And to you good luck with the jeep, Derek. I’ve left the garage unlocked for you; help yourself to any tools you might need. Also, I remembered to go shopping before coming home, so make yourself sandwiches for lunch or whatever else catches your fancy.” 

“Thank you, sir,” Derek murmured. 

The sheriff waved and ambled off, leaving his son and Derek alone. 

“He should’ve asked _you_ what it means, too,” Stiles said into the pressing silence. 

“I couldn’t have possibly explained it any better than you did,” Derek replied. He dished up the eggs, placed two slices of toast next to them, and handed Stiles the plate. “Last night you did something that changed our agreement.” 

“I really did, didn’t I,” Stiles sighed. He tiredly rubbed his eyes. “I thought I was just … clingy.” 

“You were.” Derek didn’t smile, but he _sounded_ very pleased. “You meant what you said about us being family.” 

“Yeah. I mean, I don’t just strangle-hug the hell out of everyone, you know.” Stiles picked up his fork and poked at the eggs. Derek had made them German style with onions, cubed bacon, and chives and they smelled amazing. “Is that very weird? We haven’t known each other very long.” 

“I don’t know much about magic, but I guess it doesn’t care much about time,” Derek said quietly. “I just know that it feels right.” 

“As long as you’re alright with it, I’m too, then,” Stiles promised, relieved. “Just … if you ever want out or something, just say so.” 

Derek gave him a long look that clearly said he thought Stiles was an idiot. “Eat your breakfast. Isaac will be here in a few minutes to pick you up and he’ll do it for you if you’re dawdling.” 

Stiles grinned and accepted the cup of fresh coffee the werewolf placed next to his plate. 

oOo

“You smell super happy this morning,” Isaac commented as they settled on his bike. “Did I miss something?” 

“Dunno,” Stiles said. “Maybe. Let’s get chemistry out of the way first?” 

“Yes, please. Last year’s test was a bitch.” Isaac flipped down his visor and revved up the engine. 

Their drive to school was short and they arrived with a whole swarm of other students who’d also decided that coming in early was a good idea. 

Having anticipated this, Stiles and Isaac retreated around the building for a quiet spot to sit and enjoy the morning sun and the coffee Isaac had brought in a thermos flask. 

“Vietnamese,” Isaac explained, pouring them both a small cup. “Super expensive, but really worth it. Peter said we deserve it for making it through the first week unscathed. I have danishes for after, too.” 

“Erica didn’t bomb math, and Boyd actually aced geometry,” Stiles agreed, grinning at the promise of a reward. “That’s worthy of celebration.” 

“You could come over later and we can watch shitty movies and eat a ton of food,” Isaac said. “I wanted to go to the comic store, but then I realized that I’ve already spent all my pocket money.” 

“That sucks,” Stiles offered. “I could help out a little, if you wanna take on a tiny job.” 

“No job is too small,” Isaac replied. “What do you need?” 

“How good are you at creating light effects in drawings?” Stiles asked. 

“Not very, at least not with traditional media,” Isaac admitted. “Why? You need something special? Does it have to do with your good mood?” 

“Sort of. I have an idea for something, and it’s really simple, but it needs glitter,” Stiles said. He took a pencil and scratched a very rough design into the dirt. “Like this. I thought dark blue, violet and maybe gold and lighter flecks of light?” 

“As soon as I’ve got the new computer and graphic program, I can try to draw something,” Isaac said thoughtfully. “Or just trawl a stock photo site for something fitting and alter it. Peter’ll let me create an account for sure because I’ll need it eventually for my studies and work. The first option would take a couple of weeks, at least, but the second one can be done over the weekend, at the latest.” 

Stiles didn’t have to think about it. “The second option would work just fine. Fifty dollars okay?” 

“More than, dude. Thanks.” 

The bell rang then and they emptied their cups and returned them into Isaac’s backpack before reluctantly getting to their feet. 

“You know, I didn’t really think of it before, but McCall’s taking his finals now, too, doesn’t he?” Isaac asked. They entered the building and marched towards their assigned room. “It’s not like I care, but I do wonder how he’ll do without finishing his classes here. I can’t imagine I’d manage anything above a C at most.” 

“Well, he didn’t have anything to do but study, so maybe he’ll surprise everyone,” Stiles replied. He tried very hard not to feel any concern for his former friend, but old habits really died hard. “For his mom’s sake I hope he does. Melissa shouldn’t have to worry about that on top of everything else.” 

“Too bad she loves McCall beyond reason,” Isaac muttered. “Cutting her losses now would probably spare her a lot of grief.” 

Stiles felt terrible for silently agreeing with his friend because the last thing he wanted for Melissa was to be even more hurt. 

“Good morning, class,” Harris sneered. The stack of paper in his hands looked far more menacing than it had any right to as he slightly tapped it with his index finger. “I’ll distribute the questionnaires now and then you’ll have five minutes of going over the problems and asking questions about your understanding of them.” His tone of voice dared them to actually be so stupid. “Once the exam has begun, I won’t hear a peep out of you.” 

He handed each student in the front a stack of the papers and watched silently as they reached back to pass them on. Two questions were asked, and then silence settled over the room as twenty-two students began filling in their answers. 

oOo

To celebrate the end of their first week of finals, Isaac badgered Stiles’ father relentlessly until he admitted defeat and allowed Stiles to sleep over without another of his friends present, though not for lack of trying. To the sheriff’s disappointment, Erica had her own family celebration going on, to which Boyd and his grandma had been invited and were unwilling to pass on. For only having dated less than a week, things were certainly moving fast between them. 

“You’re the best, dad,” Stiles told his beleaguered old man, pleased that this didn’t mean an automatic no right after the establishing of the rules. “How about grilling burgers on Sunday? We could ask everyone to come. It could be phase one of introducing Derek as our adoptee.” 

“You try me, kid,” John sighed, but he sounded fond. “Let’s do that. I could even ask Mrs. Miller for her pie recipe.” 

“Devious,” Stiles laughed. Mrs. Miller _always_ made an appearance when someone asked her for a recipe and delivered the foodstuff in question herself because she was lonely and eager for gossip to share around the neighbourhood. They had learned to deal with it, and in this instance Mrs. Miller could be their greatest asset. “We’ll let her stay a while, so she can spoil Derek rotten, right?” 

“I’ll make sure to have my camera ready,” his father replied dryly. “Have a good evening, and text me every now and then so I won’t worry.” 

“Maybe _you_ should text _me_ ,” Stiles shot back. “Tara tattled and told me that you’ll go after that gang again tonight. Promise you’ll be careful.” 

“We’ll be fully kitted out,” the sheriff assured him. “And we won’t take any chances. State police will back us up and I _will_ call if something happens that I don’t want you to learn from the news.” 

“Alright. Happy hunting, then.” Stiles paused. “Should I save a couple of pieces of the pizza Peter’s gonna order from Angelo’s?” 

“You better,” his father threatened. “Love you, kid. Have a good time with your friends.” 

“Love you too, daddio.” He hung up and bounced on his toes excitedly. “Can we leave right now?” 

Isaac nodded. “Just grab whatever you need. You should take the jeep because I promised Peter to spend some time with him tomorrow.” 

“No problem, Derek told me she’s like new. I can’t wait to see for myself!” Stiles emptied his backpack of his school things and stuffed a fresh T-shirt, a pair of underpants, and his laptop into it. Whatever he needed to wash and brush his teeth had been provided from the moment Peter had bought the building so he didn’t have to worry about any of that. It made going over there feel almost like coming home, and he loved it. 

Upon entering the apartment, Peter snagged Stiles and pulled him into a tight embrace. It went on for a while and made Stiles blush fiercely because Peter’s body heat was seeping into him and he could feel Lou’s giddy excitement radiate from the werewolf. 

“Wh-what’s up?” he stuttered, hanging on for dear life. 

Isaac stared at them both. 

“You finished the bond with my nephew,” Peter murmured into Stiles’ neck, his breath making the tiny hairs on Stiles’ skin stand. “I noticed as soon as he came home. He feels so much better already, far more settled and content. Thank you.” 

“Oh, uh. You’re welcome.” Stiles relaxed a little into the embrace. “That’s probably what you picked up this morning, Isaac. I guess we’re talking about it now.” 

“How did you do that?” the other teen wanted to know. “I thought you were already pack-bonded?” 

“They were,” Peter explained and finally let go of Stiles’ slightly rumpled and flushed form. “Just not completely. It was the difference between accepting someone and scent-marking them enough so they will blend in, and actually giving them the bite to bind them to the pack.” 

“Only I didn’t bite Derek, because ew.” Stiles shrugged. “I just hugged him because he was feeling rough and brought on the bro love.” 

“You must’ve reached out with your magic,” Peter added, “and because he accepted your offer of shelter, the bond was completed in the way he required.” He smirked. “Congratulations, you’re one of the rare human alphas that have accomplished this. Weres everywhere will be going nuts, once they find out.” 

“Now I’m envious,” Isaac joked. “The bite sucked, no offence.” 

“None taken,” Peter told him. “It is actually considered a rite of passage for people who want to become werewolves, because our lives are violent by nature. But I’m glad for Derek to be spared the process. He’s suffered enough and deserves a soft place to land.” 

“I’m not _soft_ ,” Stiles protested, pouting. 

“You’re a marshmallow, darling,” Peter smirked. “With a razor blade hidden inside, maybe, but a marshmallow nonetheless.” 

“Hmph, nice save,” Stiles muttered, causing Isaac to snicker. He still had Peter’s debilitatingly attractive scent in his nose and could barely think straight. And it was not his imagination that the palms of his hands were tingling a little from where he’d touched the man. 

“I do have a way with words,” Peter purred, patted Stiles’ cheek in such a condescending manner as to guarantee his ire, and then sauntered off to do who knew what in his office. 

“Come on, I can show you a few pics I found for your newest project,” Isaac said, laughing about Stiles’ scandalized expression. “Maybe I can even finish something for you before dinner.” 

To Stiles’ delight, Isaac could, and he almost giddily stuffed the printed and trimmed cards into his homework planner for further processing. 

“You know that I’m insanely curious,” Isaac said. “Will it become an official product?” 

“Definitely,” Stiles answered. “I need to test it first, but if it works as planned, we’ll have something awesome to offer the community.” 

Isaac smiled crookedly. “Awesome, huh?” 

“Awesome,” Stiles repeated. “You think we can get away with ordering already if we make the salad?” 

“Let’s try, I’m famished,” Isaac said at once and jumped up from his desk chair. “You call Derek and tell him to get that olive ciabatta from Marsha’s. I have the worst craving.” 

They had a great dinner with an engaging discussion about a range of topics, including everyone’s social calendar for the foreseeable future. Peter, delighted at the invitation for Sunday, offered to bring dessert and an assortment of drinks for the adults, and even Derek, who rarely enjoyed parties, agreed that a casual afternoon of grilling and hanging out was probably the best way to introduce him to Stiles’ neighbours as the sheriff’s latest _project_. 

“I already asked Erica and Boyd, and they both said they’ll come,” Stiles went on, “although Erica warned us that her parents plan on bringing her, and staying a while.” 

“And Boyd’s grandma? Why not make it a full set?” Isaac asked him. 

“Eh, she’ll probably be beat from the dinner at the Reyes’ tonight, but she might make an appearance to have bragging rights anyway. Boyd said that she can be very energetic when she wants to.” 

Peter wiped his hands on his napkin and cleared his throat. “It is a perfect setting for meeting everyone. If you have any information about allergies et cetera, please let me know so Isaac and I can shop accordingly.” 

“I’ll help out at the Stilinski’s house,” Derek said quietly. “If you don’t need me here.” 

Smiling almost softly, Peter rumbled, “You go where Stiles needs you, nephew, and wherever you want the rest of the time.” 

“Word,” Stiles agreed with a grin. 

Peter snorted, the oddly tender moment ruined. “You’re atrocious.” 

“You haven’t even charted all the _shallows_ of my depravity,” Stiles taunted. “Just wait until you really get to know me.” 

Peter’s look of appalled fascination was a piece of _art_. 

**End of chapter 43**


	44. Chapter 44

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes things don't go according to plan, but what the heck. YOLO and all that rot.

**Chapter 44**

Having Derek around from Saturday to Sunday was astoundingly normal, which was creeping Stiles out a little. Derek wasn’t disturbing any routines, and it didn’t feel weird when he went through the fridge to satisfy the black hole that was his stomach, or searched Stiles’ clothes for something old he could wear while cleaning up the garden and mowing the lawn. Stiles wasn’t even angry when Derek took the jeep to the mall without notifying him, and that had _never_ sat well with him. 

_Don’t fret_ , Peter texted in response to Stiles’ freak-out late at night, which was the first time he’d even noticed how _present_ Derek suddenly was. _You wholly accepted him as part of your family, your pack. It’s your imperative to provide for him now. Derek being in your space is expected, magically speaking. In fact, his being away unexpectedly would make you uneasy now, which is utterly normal behaviour for a werecreature_. 

_You think my magic is really mimicking werewolf behaviour to such a degree?_ , Stiles asked, biting his lip. He didn’t know whether to feel alarmed or elated. Right now it was a nerve-wracking mix of both. 

_Yes, absolutely. You’re a human alpha now, with all that it entails. Your magic more or less flipped a switch in your mind to make the building of your pack possible. Because you were human, with human societal norms firmly established in your mind, you noticed, but I assume that such conundrums won’t bother you much in the future_. 

Stiles mulled this over and glanced at Derek, who slept sprawled all over his bed like the giant bed hog he was. At least he wore boxers and a T-shirt, which had kept the sheriff from raising the Parental Eyebrow Of Doom at them. 

_Doesn’t feel like it right now_ , Stiles admitted. _My mind’s sort of spinning, now that it realized that something’s going on_. 

_Let it_ , Peter advised. _Just go to sleep and allow your subconscious to align those two concepts. It might take a while, but eventually you’ll adapt to your new circumstances_. 

There was a pause, and then another message from Peter appeared. 

_I hope you don’t regret bonding with my nephew?_

This, Stiles had no trouble denying. _No, of course not. I’m just freaking out about how much I’m not freaking out. Maybe I’m also freaking out because my dad’s quietly freaking out, which, understandable. I’m just glad he hasn’t shot anyone, yet._

_Me too_ , Peter replied. _I’m still very glad he’s in the know, now. I can’t regret taking that step_. 

_No, in the end you were right about us - me - needing him. I just wish I could make him, I dunno, understand things like we do_ , Stiles confessed. _He’s trying really hard but it still feels like I’m leaving him behind, and I HATE that. I wish I could just … take him with us._

_Unless he chooses to shed his humanity, there isn’t much we can do about that, sweetheart_ , Peter wrote. _There are ways to share thoughts and impressions, but none of us are in any way able to attempt even one of them. Maybe you can one day, with more experience and confidence in your abilities, but while your father is human, my method is out of the question as it would kill him_. 

_I’ll look into it_ , Stiles typed back. _Not right now, but when I’ve got a teacher. That’d be okay, right? I wouldn’t unwittingly tell my dad some big ass secret that’d get us killed or something? I mean, I don’t know how transferring thoughts and stuff really works! I don’t wanna fry his brain with all the useless facts I’m amassing to keep MY brain quiet._

_You could overload him, which is why you really need to train for this sort of thing. As to the unwitting reveal of secrets, he’s your father_ , Peter answered succinctly, the gentle admonishment sort of _drifting_ off the words and causing Stiles to flush uncomfortably with shame. _As far as I’m concerned, he’s pack, and therefore privy to everything that’s going on. It doesn’t matter that he’s human_. 

_That’s comforting_ , Stiles admitted after he’d collected himself. _Sorry for being all insecure and shit_. 

_I’d be concerned if you were not_ , Peter told him starkly. _It hasn’t been six months since you discovered the supernatural, and your introduction has been traumatic, to say the least. You have come very far since then, but you’re still only scratching at the surface. Give yourself time to process, not just your new relationship with Derek, but all of it. I don’t think you really had the time to deal with it._

_I’ve forgiven you for the shitty introduction the moment I learned what the Argents had done_ , Stiles typed a little petulantly. _Processing stuff is what I DO_. 

The phone vibrated then, and Stiles accepted the call with a sigh. 

“Rationalizing something and emotionally processing it are two very different things,” Peter said dryly. “You’re very good at the first, but I’m not so sure about the latter.” 

“Do you want me to bash your head in while you sleep?” Stiles asked, just as dryly. At Peter’s amused little snort, he sighed. “I know that I’ve got a dozen metric tons of things to work through, okay, and I’m on it. It’s just that I really don’t have all that much to emotionally process when it comes to you, or the pack. Seriously. I’m _far_ more pissed at Scott and the Argents, and I’m perfectly fine holding onto that grudge ‘til the end of time.” 

“Promise me that you’ll take some time to really think about the things you have been through since meeting my family,” Peter said calmly. “You needn’t worry that getting angry at me will change my desire to have you in my pack.” 

“How could it not,” Stiles demanded. “You’ve been doing really well for a while now. It’d be, I dunno, _unfair_ to get angry at you now for things you couldn’t really help.” 

“Life is hardly fair,” Peter reminded him, “and I will atone for some of my mistakes for the rest of my life. Letting you justifiedly vent your spleen would be a welcome change, and if it helps you enter our union without lingering resentment, all the better.” 

“Well, it _won’t_ help me do that,” Stiles said peevishly. “I’ll put the blame where it belongs, I don’t need you to be the Argents’ scapegoat. Not even for biting Scott. How often do I need to tell you this?” 

“Turning The Failure will forever remain my greatest regret,” Peter murmured. “Not only because I chose so badly, but because he caused _you_ so much grief over it.” 

“It still hurts like a bitch,” Stiles admitted, “but I found other great friends I probably wouldn’t have met without that happening, so it’s not all bad. In a horrible way you’ve actually done me a favour that night, so why don’t we go with that and call it good?” 

“Hmmm, doing you favours is one of my primary goals,” Peter murmured after some consideration. “I can accept this if you can.” 

“Believe me, I can,” Stiles snarked. “Why is it so hard for you to believe that I’m actually a fairly optimistic guy?” 

“Because it is a constant source of wonder,” Peter shot back. “Finding such optimism amidst a veritable maelstrom of teenage insecurity and flailing panic is ... disorienting.” 

“Fuck you,” Stiles huffed. 

“I’d rather not,” Peter replied wickedly. “It does get boring after a while without a partner.” 

Rendered mute with horror, Stiles promptly ended the call and breathed into the sleeve of his hoodie so he wouldn’t wake Derek with his outraged cursing. Or his very inappropriate boner. 

Peter would be the _death_ of him! 

oOo

On Sunday morning, Stiles took over the kitchen while Derek put the finishing touches on the garden. The werewolf was listening to music on his phone, a clear sign that he wanted some time to himself, but otherwise he gave off content vibes. If he’d heard Stiles’ short conversation with Peter, Derek gave no indication that he was disturbed by it, which suited Stiles just fine. He was still horrified enough for two at the turns the majority of their talks seemed to take lately. 

Around twelve the doorbell rang. It was far too early for guests so Stiles was honestly surprised to discover Erica and her parents waiting on the porch. Reflexively he looked around for Boyd. 

“He’s coming later,” Erica said with a grimace before Stiles got around to actually asking. “We were just so excited, so we decided to come early and help.” 

Stiles looked from her to her parents. “Uh, great! Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Reyes. Excuse the mess, Derek and I are in the middle of sorting things to take into the garden.” He shook both their hands, showed them in, and gave Erica a brief hug afterwards. “Er, does anyone want something to drink?” 

“Just water, please,” Mrs. Reyes said. She looked around with undisguised curiosity. “What can we help with?” 

Stiles directed them to the living room, where he’d already put the dishes, glasses, and cutlery for the gathering. 

“I’m so sorry!” Erica whispered as soon as her parents had gone outside with the first load. “I tried to stop them, but they insisted. It’s a curse.” 

“Nah, you said it, they’re just really excited for you. I don’t mind them,” Stiles said soothingly. “I’m just afraid that they’ll be bored out of their minds in no time flat. There wasn’t much left to do.” 

“Are you kidding me? My dad will probably check over the chairs to make sure they won’t collapse with some old little lady in it, and my mom will insist on helping in the kitchen, if she doesn’t start bleaching the bathrooms first. They’re the _worst_.” Erica flushed and then whined, “Can you call Isaac and ask him to come over sooner? And Peter? My parents would have so many questions, it’d keep them busy for at least an hour.” 

“You’re cruel,” Stiles hissed back, putting on a smile for Erica’s parents. 

“One more and that’s the tableware done,” Erica’s dad announced proudly. While his wife was petite and blond, he’d passed his wavy hair and slight latino appearance on to his daughter. “After that, Erica’s mom wants to tackle the spiderwebs in the corners. You know how she loves that, Muppet, so don’t frown. I hope you don’t mind, Stiles? We can get the broom no problem from the cupboard.” 

Put on the spot like that Stiles stammered, “No, no, that’s fine, whatever you want.” 

“Fantastic! You won’t even notice us,” Mr. Reyes gushed. 

Then they were gone again and Stiles muttered, “I’ll make sure Isaac comes over ASAP.” 

Erica put her face in her hands and groaned. 

oOo

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Isaac said flatly upon entering the house. In the ten minutes since Stiles’ distress call Erica’s parents had not only tackled the few spiderwebs in the far corners of the public areas in the house, they’d also taken it upon themselves to vacuum _and_ shine the floorboards. “You didn’t tell us your parental units were both obsessive cleaners.” 

“I try to pretend they aren’t, usually. At least they channelled their disorder into a thriving business. It’s what allows them to pay for my treatment, actually,” Erica said with yet another grimace. “They just can’t stop when they’ve got downtime. Really, I’m so sorry about this, Stiles. Your house isn’t dirty or anything.” 

“I won’t look a gift horse in the mouth,” Stiles replied, fascinated at the skill the petite Mrs. Reyes displayed with the heavy vacuum. “As long as they won’t send a bill I’m good.” 

Erica elbowed him. “You’re supposed to put a stop to my embarrassment, not exploit my parents.” 

“Right.” Stiles looked helplessly at Isaac. “Any ideas?” 

The werewolf crossed his arms in front of his chest. “No. And I refuse to throw myself at them so they can interrogate the heck out of me.” 

“Where the heck is Peter? I thought he’d come with you,” Stiles complained. “This is an adult sort of situation.” 

“He dropped me off and went to get the alcohol everyone will undoubtedly need later,” Isaac informed him drolly. “I take it that Derek’s completely useless?” 

“He allowed Erica’s dad to scrub the grill when he’s done with the hall floor, so no, he’s not helping,” Stiles sighed. “At least the noise will wake my dad up, if it hasn’t already.” 

Isaac snorted. “Forget it, he’s still conked out.” 

“Goddammit.” Stiles pinched the bridge of his nose. “Is there anything we can do that doesn't involve heavy guilt trips or the use of handcuffs?” 

Both his friends shook their heads so Stiles texted Boyd as a last ditch effort and then decided to fuck it, he’d get the old timer cavallerie over here pronto. 

“Watch the kitchen for me,” Stiles ordered and loped out of the house and across the street to Mrs. Miller’s house. It’d have been entertaining how the old lady was already waiting at the open door, but right then all Stiles could feel was relief. 

A quarter hour later, Stiles led not one but _four_ octogenarian guests into his house and set them on Erica’s parents without a single shred of remorse. 

oOo

“I must say that your problem solving skills are unorthodox,” Peter confided as he surveyed the assembled group of animatedly talking people in the Stilinskis’ garden. 

While Derek and his tragic circumstances had engendered exactly the reaction the pack had hoped for, his quietness had soon allowed him to retreat behind the grill, where the coals were heating up. Right now a discussion was raging on the use of vinegar and old-fashioned gall soap versus modern chemicals for cleaning, and Erica’s parents were having to work to stand their ground. 

In his hand Peter held a beer and there was an entertained smirk on his face. “You won’t hold it against me when I laugh about it later, surely.” 

“Knock yourself out, you jerk,” Stiles groused. “Erica should’ve warned me! She just told us that her parents are sort of overprotective. How the heck do you manage people who genuinely enjoy cleaning, but also do it when they’re nervous or stressed? I mean, they were coming to meet _me_!” He flailed a little, sloshing his raspberry bionade from his bottle. “That’s not a reason to be nervous!” 

Peter nudged Stiles’ shoulder with his. “From their perspective it might well be. You’ve saved their daughter from bullies and included her practically overnight into your little group of friends. From what you’ve told me, and what I’ve seen so far, your friendship has allowed the girl to blossom into the pretty young thing she now is. She’s even having a boyfriend now, which I’m sure her parents hadn’t really dared hope for before. If I were in their shoes, I’d question my good fortune, too.” 

“It’s so weird when people do that,” Stiles muttered, embarrassed. He tried to fight it, but then he defiantly leaned a little against Peter’s sturdy frame. 

“Do what?” Peter asked mildly. 

Stiles pulled a face at having to spell it out. “View me as something other than an annoying spazz.” 

Sipping his beer idly, Peter replied, “I’d never discount the pain that must’ve caused you over the years, but I can’t help but feel grateful that people did overlook you for the most part.” He looked intently at Stiles then. “They might not have gone as far as considering you trash, but you’re most definitely a treasure to me, and I'm glad that I got the chance to find you.” 

“Your sweet talk will turn my head.” Stiles fought against the flush creeping into his cheeks. 

It only became worse when Peter leaned in a little closer himself, inhaling knowingly and then smirking invitingly at him. “Would that be such a bad thing, sweetheart?” 

The flush was really heating Stiles’ face now. “Cut it out if you don’t mean it, Creeper Wolf.” 

“I rarely say or do things I don’t mean,” Peter purred. His light eyes took on a reddish sheen and his voice dropped even further. “And I’m very bad at resisting temptation. You make it far too easy, Stiles.” 

Stiles’ mouth dropped open. “I do not.” 

“You really do, and _I_ really shouldn’t enjoy making you squirm so much,” Peter admitted with a sigh. He frowned a little while looking at his nephew. “Even more so since I have, in fact, experienced hell, as Derek so kindly informs me, and I’ve no desire to return there.” His face became curiously devoid of emotion. “Excuse me.” 

Stiles stared as the man left abruptly for the refreshment table, only to jump when his father suddenly put an arm around his shoulders. From around the grill, Derek and Isaac were unabashedly looking on and, of course, listening in. 

“Do you believe me now that there might be cause for concern when it comes to Peter Hale?” the sheriff asked mildly, taking a drink from his lemonade. When Stiles futilely opened and closed his mouth to provide an answer, he added, “It’s good that he has no desire to revisit hell, because I’d hate to send him there after I’ve just warmed up to him.” 

Stiles sucked in a deep, shocked breath and looked up beseechingly. “Dad …” 

“I don't have much left to say, except be careful, kiddo.” John patted him gently. “With the both of you. I don’t think he truly realized what he was doing either until just now. It’s a tough pill to swallow for a grown guy, so don’t make it harder on him than it has to be.” 

With that he ambled off to greet their guests. At this point, only Boyd and his grandma were missing; Mrs. Miller’s personal invitation had encouraged the three other old ladies in the street to quit their spying and invite themselves along and they were _all_ eager to have the ear of the sheriff. Stiles would’ve been appalled at their presumption, but the old timers honestly brought the best gifts, a juicy, fragrant strawberry rhubarb pie among them. Right now that pie might well be the only thing keeping him on an even keel. 

Isaac trotted up to Stiles and prodded him back into the house, where they had at least the illusion of privacy. Erica was looking on in concern, but also with an almost feline look of speculation on her face. At Stiles' helpless look she raised both eyebrows, a clear demand to spill the beans later.

“Is everything alright?” the werewolf asked bluntly after closing the door. 

Stiles shook his head, still speechless. Almost mindlessly he followed Isaac through the house.

“Oh boy.” Isaac dropped onto the couch in the living room. “Do we need to talk about it?” 

“No,” Stiles croaked. He cleared his throat and looked helplessly at his friend. “Maybe. Just … _really_?” 

“That you are even surprised is an abomination,” Isaac said with an eye roll. “Get over here, I need to hug the stupid out of you.” 

“‘m not stupid,” Stiles complained, but he went and slumped against Isaac’s side. It felt good to just burrow there and be cuddled … grounded. “Just ... is Peter really … interested? He’s not just having me on for his amusement?” 

Isaac scrunched up his nose. “Don’t make me talk about it. He’s my _alpha_ , for fuck’s sake. Also, you _so_ are dumber than a sack of rocks, you moron.” 

Stunned, Stiles let himself be held. For a while he literally went under, to that dark place inside his mind where he found shelter when there was just too much to process all at once. He vaguely noted Isaac taking out his phone to mess around, and once he thought his dad came by to pat him on the head and bring him another soda. 

Derek’s appearance with a plate of steak and sausages was what caused Stiles’ brain to finally reboot and before Stiles could really think about it he blurted out, “Don’t let me pull an Erica, because I think I really want to.” 

Isaac’s answer to that was a gusty sigh, and Derek just curled a hand around Stiles’ shoulder and squeezed comfortingly. 

**End of chapter 44**


	45. Chapter 45

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 45. *shakes head at self* 
> 
> No ending in sight either, people. I'm sort of afraid to have this run on forever. o_O

**Chapter 45**

At least the ‘let’s meet the neighbours and our friends’ parents to informally adopt Derek into clan Stilinski’ plot had been a complete success. Not only had the weather been very fine all afternoon, the old ladies, while not exactly friends with each other, had also bonded instantly over their shared opinion that Derek desperately needed coddling and fattening up, and each of them had also made sure to pinch Stiles’ cheeks as a reward for his acceptance of his father’s decision. 

Sitting at the kiddy table, their self-imposed exile from any more unwelcome adult attention, Erica had nearly laughed herself sick, with Isaac not very far behind. 

“At least _you_ aren’t laughing at me, Boyd,” Stiles muttered, rubbing his abused face plaintively and stabbing at his salad. Hilariously, Peter was becoming fast friends with Mrs. Miller, no doubt wrapping her around his clawed little finger and moving to steal all her best recipes. Stiles hoped that the strawberry rhubarb pie would be one of them because that had been _amazing_. 

Boyd raised his eyebrows slightly. “You keep believing that.” 

Isaac and Erica howled, and Stiles pouted. 

“But seriously, what brought this on?” Erica finally asked, carefully wiping away some tears to preserve her eyeliner and mascara. “I thought Derek lived with his uncle?” 

Stiles glanced at the werewolf questioningly and received a small nod in return. “He still does that, but they have a sorta difficult relationship. Sometimes he just needs a place for a time-out. After the stuff with the Argents and Scott went down, my dad thinks that we could watch out for each other.” 

“Especially since the Argents left such a lasting impression,” Boyd agreed. “You think they’ll be back?” 

“Man, I hope not,” Stiles answered promptly. “I mean, who even needs them? But it’s not just them; maybe you’ve heard about that new gang trying to invade Beacon County. Apparently they’re real big on going after the families of officers to cow them so my dad really doesn’t want to leave me alone when he’s working late, or nights.” 

Erica cocked her head as she looked Derek over. “Well, he does look like he packs a punch. And you’ll go back to self-defence training in a couple of weeks, right?” 

“Yeah, when exams are over. The docs at the hospital said that I’ve healed really well.” Stiles grinned at her. “But Isaac’s way better than me by now, so he’ll be the one to teach you some good moves.” 

“You can partner with her,” Isaac said. “It’ll be good training for you both. Boyd, you wanna join?” 

Boyd nodded. “When I’ve got time.” 

“He’s gonna work a lot over the summer,” Erica supplied and ran a hand over Boyd’s arm, “but he promised to make time for hanging out and stuff. Which I _really_ appreciate.” 

Her saucy grin instantly put Stiles on alert. 

“What about you two?” she continued brightly. “Any plans on finding yourselves a girl? Or maybe some really hot older dude?” 

Stiles looked heavenward for strength, because of course she had to go there. Thank god the parental units were far enough away, or there’d be alarm bells ringing _again_. 

“Erica,” Derek warned quietly. 

“What? I’ve got eyes in my head, and those two, who shall not be named, _flirt_ ,” she defended herself. “Dear god do they flirt. It’s getting me all hot under the collar.” 

“What collar,” Stiles snapped, glaring at her low cut top and feeling thoroughly humiliated. 

“Watch it, Stiles,” Boyd snarled and stood. Derek stood as well, covering Stiles, and the two stared at each other with hard eyes. 

“No, it’s alright, Boyd.” Erica grabbed the teen’s hand and pulled him back down into his seat. “I shouldn’t tease about it, because it sucks if he actually likes you back. Which he does, I’m beginning to think. Wow. I’m sorry, Stiles.” She leaned forward, putting her rather distracting cleavage on display, and whispered conspiratorially, “Peter’s _really_ very hot, so I feel your pain.” 

“And he knows it,” Derek said flatly. Reluctantly he sat back down as well but his posture was still wary. “Can we drop it now?” 

“Yes, please,” Stiles begged. 

Erica winked. “Alright, but I claim best friend privileges. If something exciting happens, you tell me, got it?” 

“You will not reciprocate,” Boyd told her sternly, to which Erica only blew him a raspberry. 

“Of course I will, Honey Bear. If I’m Stiles’ bestie, he’s mine, too.” She placed her cheek against her boyfriend’s shoulder and looked up beguilingly. “But you’re the bestest bestie of them all, boo. I solemnly swear to censor myself to the best of my ability. That okay?” 

Despite his lingering mortification, Stiles had to grin about Boyd’s reluctantly mollified expression. 

“We good, man?” he asked Boyd. 

The boy nodded, but he said, “Please don’t talk to her like that again.” 

“I deserved it for poking him,” Erica interjected contritely. “It’s all good, Stiles, promise.” 

“It was still dickish. You look great and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise,” Stiles returned just as apologetically. 

She smiled shyly. “I’m working on it.” 

Isaac blew out an annoyed breath. “So now that we’re all fine and dandy again, care to tell me more about that gang trying to infiltrate our town, Stiles?” 

Figuring that Isaac was doing his part in gathering intelligence for the pack, Stiles readily gave up what he’d managed to learn from the people at the station and the almighty internet. “They call themselves Los Lobos Locos and hail from San Diego. At least that’s where they’ve started their marauding, but they’ve been moving north for a couple of years now.” 

“They do not call themselves that,” Isaac said flatly. “What the fuck.” 

Stiles fought down a smirk. “I know, it’s so cliché. Anyways, I trawled the internet the last couple of nights to find out more, and it turns out that they’re known for their brutality. Robberies, overtaking territories for selling drugs, intimidating law enforcement, whatever they need done, they do it with the big guns blazing.” 

“How does that even work long term?” Boyd asked, one eyebrow raised. 

“It doesn’t, or else they wouldn’t be wandering so much,” Stiles replied. “But they have access to heavy hitting weapons, and a steady influx of new members, unfortunately. My dad’s pissed off at the number of mentally unstable people just itching to grab a gun and cause destruction. Also, a deputy told me that most of the guys are apparently so brainwashed that they prefer suicide by cop to being arrested. Some gang members even more or less provoked getting killed in prison later, just so they wouldn’t be tempted to tattle on their _pack_. My dad’s deputies are already looking for qualified counsellors because they were lucky so far and didn’t have to shoot anyone, but they don’t expect it to stay that way.” 

“And those Lobo dudes are really coming _here_?” Erica asked, paling a little. 

“Not if my dad can help it,” Stiles tried to reassure her, “but he’s struggling. State police and the FBI are involved because they’ve been escalating for a while now, but they don’t know the area as well as the local LEOs and are apparently fond of stepping on all the toes they can find.” 

“That begs the question why they haven’t been taken out already,” Isaac muttered. He opened the browser on his phone and frowned at what he found there. “I admit that I haven’t really noticed them in the news or something, but come on. According to the net, they’ve been terrorizing SoCal for years. Surely that’d have been enough.” 

Erica looked at his phone and blanched even further. “Wow, they’re the guys who’ve blown up the police station in Arvin.” 

“Yeah, that was a massacre, thankfully not just for our guys. My dad said that they’re broken up into chapters so they won’t be taken out all at once if the FBI manages a sting operation. There’s a lot more sick shit going on, but they won’t discuss it with me, and I don’t need to hear it,” Stiles replied somberly. “I’ll try to keep you updated. Right now things are still good in Beacon Hills, so don’t worry too much. If that changes, my dad will inform the news outlets and stuff.” 

“Can I ask Derek to protect me, too?” Erica asked, for once wholly without a leer. “I definitely can’t throw a punch to save my life, which really sucks, but I also don’t want to give up hanging out just because those scumbags might go after you, Stiles. I just know my parents might ask me to if those Locust guys actually manage to come here.” 

“If you’re okay with him tagging along over the summer every now and then, he could do that,” Stiles said, looking at the werewolf to make sure that was alright with him. “But then he gets a say in what we’re gonna do, too. There might be hiking involved, though.” 

“I’m totally okay with that,” Erica said quickly. 

“What do you say, Derek? You wanna play babysitter for a bunch of losers?” Stiles asked. 

Derek eyed them speculatively. “I demand hazard pay.” 

“Oy,” Isaac snarked, “I can look after myself.” 

“Sure you can,” Derek replied, his sarcastic tone belying the words. 

“I don’t know about you, but I’ll get another piece of pie before it’s all gone,” Stiles declared. 

Under the old ladies’ eager eyes, Stiles chose another piece of strawberry rhubarb pie for himself, chocolate pecan for Derek, and, because Isaac had been absolutely awesome earlier, apple for him. He also managed to carry the whipped cream dispenser under his arm, to the delight of his friends. 

“Sorry, I couldn’t carry anymore, or I’d have gotten you some more blueberries,” Stiles said to Erica as he handed out plates. “Or do you want strawberries?” 

“I’ll get her some,” Boyd said to Stiles and left to raid the already heavily plundered dessert table. 

“He’s so great,” Erica sighed, dreamily watching him go. 

“And you’re so smitten it’s almost disgusting,” Isaac sniped with an eye roll. He pulled his plate closer and positively burrowed his pie under a mountain of whipped cream. 

Erica just smirked as she stole a dollop. “You never answered my question earlier. Are you planning on luring some unsuspecting girl into your trap? Because believe me, some girls really want to be lured.” 

“I’m not in a good place for a girlfriend right now,” Isaac replied, not beating around the bush. He speared a piece of cake, shoved it into his mouth, and groaned obscenely. “It’s already hard work to live with an adult who actually cares. No way am I pandering to some girl’s romantic fantasies while I’m still having to pinch myself occasionally.” 

Stiles could relate only too well to this after his own dad had recently decided to take more of an interest. “It’s totally cool, no one _needs_ to date during the holidays. It just means more time for hanging out and working on your comic and stuff. Which I’m totally here for.” 

“Yeah, me too.” Isaac smiled and offered his hand for a casual high-five. 

Boyd returned then and their talk turned to their last week of school, and the finals they still had to power through. It was the first time in Stiles’ living memory that he’d had that: just sitting in the garden with friends, talking about school and life and their plans while drinking soda and eating delicious food. 

_I really hope things work out with Erica and Boyd_ , Stiles thought, a little wistful when the sun had gone down and the few fairy lights Derek had strung up for them flickered on. _And_ for _them, too_. 

With the cooler air the atmosphere turned mellow and sweet, and an intimacy settled over the gathering that hadn’t been there before. Everything seemed possible just then: Erica travelling the world and Boyd doing meaningful work with socially disadvantaged children, and Stiles tried to breathe through the rush of happiness in his chest. 

From across their loose chair circle, he caught Peter’s eye and shyly toasted him with his glass of lemonade. 

Peter, who was lounging in utter relaxation right beside the sheriff, regarded him for a moment before raising his own glass of scotch and inclining his head. 

_And I won’t be an idiot about Peter_ , Stiles told himself. 

Because he desperately wanted the pack stuff to work out between them, first and foremost, and if that meant keeping his crush to himself for the next year, he absolutely would. He did have several years of practice in pining after Lydia under his belt, after all. 

oOo

On Wednesday afternoon, right after Stiles had gotten home after his last exam, Stiles’ phone chimed with a message. It was from Peter, which made Stiles’ heart do a stupid little extra hop in his chest. Now that he’d acknowledged his decidedly carnal interest in the man, his hands even got a little sweaty. 

It all turned from enjoyable to clammy in a heartbeat once he’d read the message. 

_Don’t panic, all is well. However, your father will have to stay at the station today because two of his deputies were ambushed an hour ago. One is in critical condition_. 

Stiles blanched, all elation about having survived school for another year forgotten. Hastily he typed back, _OMG, will he make it? And how do you even know this?_

_I might have taken offence at another wolf hunting in my territory._

_Unlike the deputy, one of the invaders won’t be pulling through. Another was permanently hobbled._

_Would be a bit difficult, what with a head and a leg having been parted from their bodies respectively._

Stiles’ mouth dropped open at the small flood of messages, and Peter still wasn’t done. 

_Your father knows, and hasn’t threatened me with arrest or worse. Do you think you might be able to follow his lead? Your morals are gratifyingly flexible, but it’s always better to ask. If not, I’ll endeavour to make myself scarce for a while._

_That being said, I definitely need to set up several safe houses in Beacon Hills. I played the animal attack angle and am in need of a shower._

Stiles regained his equilibrium. _Are you jacked up on adrenaline just now? You’re rambling._

_Yes,_ Peter replied. _I called Derek to pick me up and get me home_. _We might use the momentum to spar a little._

_Don’t you dare cut him to ribbons_ , Stiles shot back, alarmed. A _nd don’t you dare test out the emergency healing die! If you hurt yourselves, it fucking doesn’t count as an emergency. And if you kill him, I’ll end you myself. Understood?_

_Completely. Still, someone has to test it sometime_ , Peter replied. _Derek will be by later - in one piece._

There was a pause, and then yet another message popped up on Stiles’ phone. 

_Your father asks that you refrain from pestering his underlings. He’ll tell you everything once he’s got the time_. _He also asks that you begin to wear the bullet proof shirts again, just in case some of those low lives manage to break through the perimeter._

Stiles didn’t have to think twice about it. _Consider it done. Can I finally have that book about offensive magic? Seems like we might need it._

_I’ll have Isaac deliver it. I’d also feel better if he could spend the night at yours, together with Derek._

_Yeah, me too_. Stiles bit his lip and counted to five. _Be careful, don’t get caught._

_Never. I have too much to lose now. Be safe, Stiles._

Stiles wallowed in the strange intimacy of Peter contacting him right after heaping bloody vengeance on one of America’s most violent gangs in recent history and then regretfully deleted the chat history. It just wouldn’t do to leave evidence lying around, even with his dad being firmly on their side in this instance. 

He drove his jeep home and parked it in the garage for a change, because if there ever was a time to ward it to hell and back, this was it. It helped that Derek had completely sorted the mess after he was done repairing the jeep, making the space available for its actual purpose again. 

After closing and locking the garage door, Stiles sprinted up to his room, threw on one of the armoured shirts, grabbed the folder of ward schemes he’d collected, and a handful of sharpies. His baby wouldn’t ever be the same after this, but it’d be worth it. 

For more than an hour, Stiles busied himself with placing three different wards onto his beloved jeep. The first one was done in thick black marker, the second in silver, and the last and most vicious one in gold. Trained in laying out intent based wards or no, Stiles wouldn’t let anyone or anything take the car from him. He’d already decided that his next car-related project would be finding a way to reduce wear and tear to zero. That’d cut the cost for the pack by a lot … and probably enable everyone to buy monstrously overpriced cars as a result. 

A knock against the garage door pulled him from his thoughts. 

“Stiles?” Isaac called. “You gonna let me in?” 

Stiles stood. “Yeah, I’m gonna open the front door. Hold on.” 

A minute later, Isaac was crowding him in the hallway and snuffling against his neck. 

“Why does living in this town suck so much?” the werewolf demanded. “We literally _just_ ended one threat.” 

“I actually think Peter had some fun today,” Stiles mumbled against Isaac’s shoulder. “Honestly, I think he felt cheated with the Argents and let out his frustration on them.” 

“He still looked like a mad serial killer when he finally made it back,” Isaac huffed and pushed Stiles away. “Derek dumped him in the river first to get rid of most of the blood. That’ll teach me to always have a change of clothes on hand.” 

“But no one saw them? What about security cameras?” Stiles asked. 

“Apparently those guys smashed the camera in the police car first before trying to off the deputies. Since it happened outside town there’s no footage. Body cams didn’t get anything useful on Peter as well, thank god.” Isaac grabbed Stiles by the arm and dragged him into the kitchen. “Do you have any leftovers from Sunday left? I could stress-eat a cow.” 

“No, but we can order pizza or something. I could eat.” Stiles took out his phone to check the time. “If Derek’s trying to beat up Peter, he’ll be a while, right?” 

“They were already at each other’s throats when I left,” Isaac said with an eye roll. “You bet that they’ll stuff themselves right after their ‘sparring’ session.” 

His air quotes were a thing of beauty, Stiles decided. They chose their pizza, placed the order, and then retreated to Stiles’ room to work on their projects. 

“You know, I can hardly believe that we’ll be really starting our shop next week,” Isaac suddenly said. He had his whole backpack full of Copic markers spread out on Stiles’ bed as he worked on his newest drawing. It showed a lanky teen in a red hoodie that was carrying a spiked baseball bat in the middle of a dark and creepy forest. “Is it just me getting nervous?” 

Stiles spun his pencil around his fingers. “Nah, I’m nervous as heck. Especially since what we’ll be selling will be so cheap. I mean, let’s face it, we’re shoddily printing trading card sized pics on hemp paper and demand ten dollars and up for one. It’s kind of insane.” 

“You did come up with sufficiently suggestive advertising texts, right?” Isaac questioned. “You said, but you know, nervous wreck here.” 

“Peter gave his okay and Derek told me that he’d become at least curious,” Stiles replied. “Also, if we don’t sell, nothing will change, except we’ll be a little disappointed. But!” And he set down the pencil in favour of one of the newly printed cards Isaac had made for him last Saturday. “Check this out.” He flicked it at his friend. 

“It’s a Lucky Dust card,” Isaac said slowly. He traced it with his fingers, chasing the tiny spark of magic Stiles had hidden in it. “You gonna tell me what it’s good for now?” 

“Yep. So, at first I thought that I’d just charm it for luck, run of the mill-like like you do. But then I thought that it’d be much better to charm it for luck in a shitty situation. Like, someone’s in really dire straits for some reason, but they have this Lucky Dust card, so they rip it up and then something tiny but really good happens when they need it the most.” 

Isaac’s less than impressed expression lightened to one of awe. “Like an emergency beacon of hope?” 

“Better. Like clutching at a straw and actually being able to find a way out of their misery.” Stiles leaned forward. “I’ll do the generic luck freebie too, of course, and there’s this Magical Moment card I want where people can just use it up for a special moment in their day. But the Lucky Dust, man, I think we need it to help folks who’re being run down by murderous hunters and stuff.” 

“I’m so there for it,” Isaac said fervently, eyes firmly on the dark blue card with glowing sprinkles and the equally glowing slogan ‘A Sprinkle Of Lucky Dust’ on it. “Can I keep this?” 

“Partners in the business can have whatever they need,” Stiles said. He exhaled. “In fact, I’ve printed out a ton of med pack tickets just for us. Who knows when we might need them.” 

“Yeah, excellent thinking. Thanks.” Isaac accepted the thick envelope and almost reverently stowed it in his backpack. “Tell me what you need for your new cards. I brought my laptop, I can do it immediately.” 

Stiles managed to outline his thoughts on each motif but then their pizza arrived - not tampered with this time, because Stiles had warded the house to such a degree that people with ill intent couldn’t help but feel repelled, not to mention experience severe nausea - and they attacked it like the hungry teenagers they were. 

They’d return to work right after, but in that half hour they managed to forget their troubles and just enjoy the fact that school would be out for summer in two more days, and that they’d take their very first step into the business world together. 

**End of chapter 45**


	46. Chapter 46

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As the Germans are fond of saying, "Läuft bei mir." (It's going well for me.) :)

**Chapter 46**

The rest of the school week passed quickly, everybody already more or less checked out for the summer. There were report cards and summer reading lists and assignments handed out, but that impacted the few students on an accelerated track far more than anybody else and so was largely ignored for the time being. 

Stiles, of course, had had his talk with Mrs. Hicks, and, to his amused dismay, also got held back by Finstock after econ on Friday afternoon. 

“Stilinski, you’re probably wondering what you’re doing here, when all the other little rapscallions have already fled the premises,” Finstock began, staring at Stiles in that weirdly intense way of his. 

“Can’t say I don’t, sir,” Stiles replied smartly. 

“Hah, knew it.” Finstock leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on his desk. “So I spoke with the new principal a week ago and got interrogated about you.” 

Stiles raised both eyebrows. “Isn’t that, you know, normal for new principals? She does know I want to graduate early.” 

Finstock waved this away. “Of course she does! That’s not the point. The _point_ is, that she discovered your little treatise on the impact of the male circumcision on the world’s economy through the ages, and laughed herself sick reading it.” 

“Okay?” Even with all his thoughts engaged, Stiles couldn’t fathom what this could mean for him. 

“I’m sure you’re glad you could amuse her, but the fact is, Stilinski, that she wants to send it to her connections at several colleges to maybe get you admitted early. Like, come September early.” Finstock smugly crossed his arms in front of his chest and smirked. 

Stiles stared uncomprehendingly at the man. “What?” 

“You didn’t see that coming, did you?” Finstock asked. 

“No! Seriously, what? She wants to send that old thing? Also, I’m not ready for this!” Stiles reflexively looked at the closed door, behind which Isaac was waiting and probably having a cow. “She won’t send it without my okay, right?” 

“No, but she really wants to.” Finstock unfolded his arms, lacing his hands together on his belly now in a show of nonchalance. 

“I talked to her yesterday! Why didn’t she say anything?” Stiles hated how his voice climbed a little into screeching territory, but there was just no fighting the honest freakout that was creeping up on him. 

“Okay, calm down. She didn’t want to do it herself because she didn’t want you to feel badgered into doing it. Hence her handing that dubious pleasure over to me because apparently I'm the teacher you've known longest at this fine school.” Finstock exhaled noisily. “But I’ll be honest, Stiles. While you would probably ace the college thing, I’m not so sure it’s the best thing for you right now. You’ve been through some serious shit lately, so maybe some more time as a normal student to get your head back on straight would help more than getting a head start on adulting.” 

Stiles relaxed a little. “I couldn’t agree more. Sir.” 

“Oh, come on, don’t sir me,” Finstock groused. “I’ll get _so much_ shit for talking you out of it. That’ll earn me more disappointed sirs than my own career will be able to handle.” He pointed at Stiles, narrow-eyed. “The least you could do is to rejoin the lacrosse team so I can yell at you like you deserve.” 

“I’m afraid that won’t be happening, _sir_ ,” Stiles replied, a lot more cheerful now. “Thanks for your stellar career counselling, I appreciate it.” 

“Go love yourself, Stilinski,” Finstock huffed and shooed him away. “Out, now, I don’t want to see your mug until September!” 

Stiles had already opened the door when Finstock sent a last volley. 

“Oh, and you better write me an essay that’s worthy of Stanford’s full ride program or heads will roll! And read your damn e-mail, I forwarded you the principal’s letter! If you’ve got any consideration for my continued employment to spare, you’ll answer her yourself!” 

Stiles saluted the man and then he was out of the classroom; he was free for the summer. 

Isaac promptly towed him out of the building, looking around the eerily empty parking lot like he expected Mrs. Hicks to pop up somewhere and declare her intent to publish Stiles’ work everywhere it might even be remotely considered, regardless of his wishes. 

“You won’t change your mind, will you?” Isaac demanded as they reached the jeep. 

“I probably won’t, but I’ll have to tell my dad about it, and we also might have to have a pack discussion about this,” Stiles said. He shoved his hands into his pockets and frowned a little. “I keep saying pack, when I’m not really a member yet.” 

“You know that Peter considers you pack,” Isaac huffed. “He just needs _you_ to acknowledge it openly. If you're gonna make concessions, he’s gonna take them and run with it.” 

“Yeah, he will.” Stiles bit his lip, worrying it a little as he thought. “I just … now that I know that we sort of have a thing for each other, he might …” 

“Want you gone?” Isaac supplied when Stiles faltered. 

“Yeah, that,” Stiles confessed in a small voice. 

Isaac pursed his lips. “Even if he did, it’d only be until you’re legal so he wouldn't be tempted, so what good would it do in the long run? I’m sure he’d rather pine for a year than have you at the other side of the country or wherever, for however long you’ll need to graduate.” 

“But will he even like me like that in a year?” Stiles sighed and face-palmed. “I don’t wanna sound needy, but it’s … my life.” He stopped again and stared into the distance. 

“Stiles?” Isaac touched Stiles’ shoulder. 

“I think I might be having a life crisis,” Stiles said faintly. He slumped against the side of the jeep, hands going clammy. “Holy shit. I’m planning my fucking _life_ around the fucking hope that Peter and I will actually …” He broke off, shaking his head. “This is insane, man.” 

“Uhm, maybe a little? Look, it might be _you_ who won’t like Peter like that in a year. Ever thought about that?” 

Stiles just snorted bitterly. “You’ve seen me obsess over Lydia, right?” 

“Right.” Visibly at a loss, Isaac leaned next to him. “Pack meeting tonight? Think your dad will make it?” 

“He has to,” Stiles replied, still blinking at nothing in the distance. “Because I don’t think I can wait with this.” 

oOo

It had been a long time since the people in Stiles’ life dropped everything and rushed to his side when he needed them. After his mother’s death a lot of the neighbours and some of the Stilinskis’ scattered family had done their level best to support both him and his father, but these last four or five years things hadn’t been good on that front. The last six months didn’t even bear thinking about. 

To lessen the guilt Stiles felt at having this little crisis right now, he’d asked Derek to meet him and Isaac at the store and get some rather pricey things for dinner. If they had to do this, they could at least eat well. 

“I should help more,” Stiles said anxiously, watching Derek handle the actual cooking with enviable calmness. “I promised not to ask you to do all the household stuff.” 

“You didn’t, so far, and I’d much rather do this myself than have you slice off a chunk of your thumb,” Derek replied evenly. He put the pan of stuffed sweet potatoes into the oven for later. “Why don’t you get some magic things you can work on? That’ll keep at least your hands busy.” 

Grateful for the suggestion, Stiles bounded up the stairs, grabbed his magic war chest, and clattered back down, nearly bowling over Isaac, who was doing his best to straighten up the living room. 

“I’ll work a little on my light pebbles,” Stiles said. “Maybe I can finally fix the on/off-switch problem.” 

Derek glanced over his shoulder. “You still haven’t found a solution?” 

“Well, I did get them to switch off again by taking away the magic, but that’s not what I want, obviously. Plus, I didn’t really have time for it.” Stiles shrugged. “And it wasn’t very important. I don’t want to fold origami animals, and I might burn myself if I tried to make more dice, so pebbles it is.” 

Derek abandoned the stove and picked up one of the little white stones. “I could see this on a key chain, but they’re too round. Flat stones, or maybe a generic key fob, would be better.” 

Stiles snapped his fingers and pointed at him. “And this is why I keep you around! Great idea, Sourwolf.” With an impatient move, Stiles shoved all the pebbles back into the box and pulled out his key ring. It was secured on a chain, and he did have a brass key fob with the sheriff station logo on it. “I’m so unbelievably dumb. Why not simply do it with a press of a thumb? That logo’s as good as a button, Jesus.” 

Derek couldn’t quite hide his pleased little smile. 

Muttering, Stiles stared at the little brass fob, only to shriek a little when it suddenly began to glow brightly. “Hah!” he cried, showing off the blazing metal. 

“Stiles!” Derek shouted. He turned away with a hiss and covered his eyes with both hands. 

At his cry, Isaac came running, claws out and eyes a bright amber. “What’s wrong! Ow!” 

“Fuck, sorry!” Stiles hastily pressed his thumb against the emblem on the fob and the light obediently shut off. “Are you two alright?” 

Isaac groaned. “Just dandy.” 

“Give me a second,” Derek growled. When he took his hands away, his eyes were a little teary. “You might want to adjust that with weres in mind.” 

“Yeah, of course. Really, I’m sorry.” Stiles got up and soothingly rubbed Derek’s shoulder. Isaac’s worried little whimper tugged at his insides. “But hey, we did it!” 

“You did, and you better put a warning sign on those things,” Derek sighed. He dried his eyes and blinked away the last of the damage. 

“I will.” Stiles turned the shoulder rub into a one-armed embrace and placed his head on Derek’s shoulder. “I guess I need a workshop to create things, or I’ll keep hurting you. Don’t let me do that anymore, okay.” 

“You didn’t mean to,” Derek replied, rubbing his cheek against the top of Stiles’ head. “The healing die was my own fault.” 

“That doesn’t make it any better,” Stiles argued. He wiggled his fingers at Isaac in invitation and hugged him with his free arm. “I really should know better by now. You think I could co-opt the third floor of Peter’s lair? Or would it be too dangerous with you all living there?” 

“I don’t see how, as long as you’re not experimenting with explosives,” Derek returned with a little shrug. He went on, “Peter would be thrilled. He’d never say no to more free warding.” 

“Well, I sort of feel like I’m taking over his life,” Stiles admitted, and just like that he was back to worrying about this. 

“It’s nothing less than what he’s been doing these last six months,” Derek said. “You’re actually fairly equal on that front, which is honestly rare.” 

“Huh.” Stiles went a little boneless at that. 

“It’s okay to call for a meeting if you need one,” Derek went on. He released Isaac and pushed Stiles back to his seat at the table. “Do you want to talk about it before your father and Peter get here?” 

“Not particularly,” Stiles muttered. He fidgeted with his keys, very consciously _not_ touching the key fob. “Once will be enough.” 

“Okay then. I’ll be done soon; why don’t we go for a run through the preserve?” Derek offered. “Nothing too strenuous, but it’ll be good to clear your thoughts.” 

Stiles wasn’t very keen on getting sweaty but could admit to himself that unexpectedly solving his little pebble problem had thrown a wrench into his afternoon plans. For the first time in weeks, he didn’t have anything else lying around that absolutely needed to be done. 

“Fine,” he sighed. “But don’t expect me to run fast. Or far. Or with any sort of enthusiasm.” 

Isaac grinned. “We’ll see about that.” 

Groaning, Stiles said, “When will I learn not to issue challenges to you guys?” 

Grin widening, Isaac replied, “Hopefully never.” 

oOo

The run in the preserve did get Stiles sweaty, and he cussed both Derek and Isaac out like a sailor when they not only forced him to run three miles, but also dragged him through the public obstacle course. Afterwards, however, when he was freshly showered and nursing a cup of coffee with a fair bit of cream as well as a sprinkle of salt to get his electrolytes back up, he felt surprisingly settled. 

“I told you that you’d feel better,” Derek said, back at the stove. He was frying apple cubes in butter for the turnovers they’d decided they wanted for dessert.

A dash of cinnamon on the sweet mess made the air heavy and sweet, causing Stiles’ mouth to water.

Seemingly oblivious to Stiles' food-lusty thoughts, Derek added, “Once you’ve got your wolf spark back, it might get even more pronounced. He’ll probably want to run regularly.” 

“Great,” Stiles huffed. He slurped down the last of his coffee and then stood to help with the setting of the table. 

Stiles' father came home when the roast chicken and sweet potatoes still needed thirty minutes in the oven, which was just about perfect timing to wash up and open a bottle of beer. 

“Thanks for making it, dad,” Stiles said, a little shyly. “I know that you’ve got a ton of stuff to coordinate.” 

“Your message sounded serious,” John replied easily. “And I figured that I had better check our security system before going back in late tonight.” 

“Another raid?” Stiles asked, a sinking feeling in his stomach. 

His father hastened to say, “No, none of that. We’re just a little short-staffed with two of our own in the hospital. It’s critical that we not show weakness right now because they’ll be out for blood after losing a couple of their guys.” 

“Speaking of which, you don’t have footage of Peter, do you?” Stiles bit his lip. 

The sheriff’s lips quirked in a wry half-smile. “What little we do have is utterly useless. There are a few seconds of black shadows and some growling, not to mention a lot of incoherent screaming, but that’s it. It’ll probably be ruled as a bear attack or whatever the coroner thinks applies the most.” 

Everyone sagged a little in relief. 

“I don’t know your uncle very well, yet, Derek, but how high would you say is the probability of him doing that again?” John asked mildly. 

Derek didn’t even stop his slow stirring as he answered, “Very high. They’re invaders bent on destroying property and people in his territory, he’s not going to tolerate that.” 

“I thought as much,” the sheriff replied. 

There was a knock at the front door and Isaac went to let Peter in. Only a moment later, both werewolves were back and bearing gifts. 

“Evening, John,” Peter said smoothly. He placed a carton into a corner and directed Isaac to stack his on top of it. “This meeting is fortuitous because I’ve just received another shipment of armoured clothing. Please wear them whenever possible.” 

“They’re the pants,” Isaac supplied. “Cargo, jeans, and some long underwear stuff. You can wear that underneath your uniform, sir.” 

The sheriff accepted this with a little nod. “Thank you, that’s very generous.” 

“To answer your question myself, no, I will not stop breaking that gang’s little loco necks,” Peter said pleasantly. “However, I’ll restrict myself to Beacon Hills proper if that’s what you want.” 

John looked torn between horrified and grateful for a long moment. Then, he settled on tired and murmured, “I really shouldn’t, but even with the state police and the FBI around it might not be enough to protect the families of my people.” 

“While my territorial imperative won’t allow me to simply stand by, Derek and Isaac will protect Stiles specifically as much as they’re able. I’d like for you to keep in mind that Isaac has only been a werewolf for two months and is nowhere near as accomplished a fighter as Derek. Mistakes might happen and I’d hate to be at odds with you if something unpreventable were to happen to Stiles.” Peter went around the table and rubbed everyone’s necks, even Derek’s, and clapped the sheriff casually on the shoulder. 

“Of course, I would never expect him to kill,” John said quietly. He looked at the wolves. “Thank you. I honestly appreciate what you’re willing to do for my family.” 

Peter slid into the empty chair and tilted his head slightly, eyes already firmly on Stiles. “It’s all part of the package. Now, why did you call for a meeting?” 

Suddenly a little choked up, Stiles pulled the printed out letter from school out of his pocket and slid it over the table to his dad. “Finstock sent me this today. He said I should think about it.” 

Frowning, his father picked it up, unfolded the slightly crumpled paper, and read it over. Peter by his side did the same, eyebrows slightly rising the further he got along. 

“Well, that’s something,” John finally said, carefully setting the letter down. “Congratulations on your killer grades, kiddo. I’m very proud of you.” 

“Thanks, dad,” Stiles muttered. He twisted his hands in his lap. “I told Finstock no.” 

The sheriff gave another of his slight half-smiles. “Of course you did.” 

“Not because of the pack thing, or because I don’t want to leave you,” Stiles rushed to say. He paused, thinking it over, and confessed, “Okay, maybe it _is_ because I don’t think you could survive all by yourself, but that’s mostly because of the Scott thing. I’m just not ready to let you out of my sight yet.” 

“It’s more than fine,” his father said, the little smile growing into something far more substantial and loving. “I’m in no hurry to boot you out. It’d look good on your CV, granted, but it’ll still look good half a year from now. And you did just commit to your little online shop. It’d disappoint your friends if you backed out so soon.” 

“Yeah.” Stiles exhaled, finally relaxing. “I really want that shop.” Turning to Peter, he asked, “It’s alright with you, too, isn’t it?” 

“Your education is important to me, but it’s none of my business how you choose to go about it,” Peter said. “That being said, waiting another year has several advantages, among them the fact that I’ll be fully restored to society by then, and be able to pitch in if necessary. That’d open a lot of doors you might not have considered yet.” 

“Of the supernatural sort?” Stiles asked, perking up. 

“Of any sort,” Peter replied, smirking. “I was a rather well connected individual before Kate Argent appeared in Beacon Hills.” 

“At twenty-four?” the sheriff asked a little dubiously. 

“I was very, very good at my job,” Peter said without an ounce of modesty. “Additionally, my affinity for magic made me something of an oddity in my circles, so I never lacked attention from that quarter. Those contacts will come in very handy in the future as Stiles continues to develop his abilities.” 

John took a sip of his beer, eyeing his son thoughtfully. “It will be necessary, huh?” 

“It’s safe to say that Stiles is not the usual run of the mill hedge witch,” Peter explained. “You might not be aware, but he’s learning Archaic Latin and the runic languages in his spare time to better understand the magic he’s wielding when using their symbols and letters. This house is already warded so well that the Locos won’t be able to break in, or set it on fire. I’m guessing that he’ll do the same with your car, eventually, and every patrol car he can get access to.” 

“You say it like I didn’t already do that for my dad,” Stiles said. He willed the embarrassed flush from his cheeks. “After I’m done with school I’ll have an honest to god _mentor_ who’ll show me how to not level the town to the ground.” 

“I’m all for _that_ ,” his father said dryly, almost a little mocking. 

“I don’t think you’re really believing us when we talk about Stiles having magic, sir,” Isaac interjected somewhat hesitantly. “Why?” 

The sheriff visibly chose his words carefully. “I’ve seen you lot transform, and I healed a lot faster than I should have after Stiles read his spells at me. I’m not _not_ believing you.” 

“That’s not the same thing as fully understanding it,” Peter said bluntly. “Sometimes the mind is only able to comprehend what the eye can see. Stiles, why don’t you show your father a few tricks with your mountain ash? That should take care of that problem fast.” 

“Sure. I seriously can't believe I've never done that.” Stiles took out his baggie of ash and grabbed a pinch. “Put your bottle on the table, dad.” 

Reluctantly, his father did as asked, only to recoil in shock when the thrown ash rained down around the bottle in a square shape. The lines were so clean, they might as well have been drawn with a sharpie. After a second, the shape changed to circle, then triangle, and lastly to something abstract and spiky. 

“What the hell!” John exclaimed. 

“That’s me,” Stiles said. He wiggled his fingers, making the ash lines wiggle along with them. “ _Magic_.” 

“Holy shit.” Stunned, his father stared at him. “Maybe you really do need a mentor.” 

“Yup.” Stiles pointed at Peter. “I’m co-opting your third floor because I need a workshop. Earlier I nearly took out Derek’s eyes with my flashlight charm, that’s not gonna happen again. I’ll ward that space even against my own stupidity if I have to.” 

“You’re welcome to move in at your convenience, Stiles,” Peter purred. “I’ve already ordered shelves for your products but you’ll want to choose your own work tables and chairs.” 

“I know that you’re loaded but it’s just horrifying how you keep dropping money on the kids.” John sighed, still looking a little shell shocked. “I can only hope that we’ll be able to pay you back one day.” 

Peter’s smile became decidedly toothy and Stiles really shouldn’t find that as attractive as he did. Even Isaac's narrowed eyes and his elbow to the ribs at Stiles' fluttery heartbeat didn't help much to calm him down. 

“I’m not sure that you’re the ones owing me anything,” Peter said after a pause, eyes intently on Stiles. “After all, Stiles did save my life not once but twice, and has put countless hours of work into protecting us all besides. Most in our community would agree that dedication like that has no price.” 

“If I allow him to work there, you’ll swear on your life that you’ll behave,” the sheriff said, more resigned than stern. 

“Naturally.” Peter bared his teeth in a full-on snarl, and his voice turned sharp. “I do want the Argents and The Failure to get what’s coming to them.” 

The oven timer beeped then, effectively putting an end to their talk, and for the rest of the night there was no more discussion about school or the Lobos Locos. Instead, Stiles and Isaac regaled John with their holiday plans for the next week, which included a bicycle tour with Boyd and Erica and the grand opening of their Etsy store, as well as at least a couple of illicit visits to the diners and ice cream parlours in the area just to annoy Peter. 

When he left an hour later with Peter in tow, Stiles’ father was back to his usual collected self, which Stiles counted as a major win. 

**End of chapter 46**


	47. Chapter 47

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I'm back to posting relatively quickly, here's a friendly reminder that I don't have a beta reader and cringey mistakes are to be expected. If you find glaring errors, leave me a comment and I'll fix them.

**Chapter 47**

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Isaac whispered in a hushed voice. He had a hand on Stiles’ shoulder and squeezed tightly. 

Stiles grasped the other boy’s hand and returned the squeeze in equal measure. His eyes were glued to the screen of his laptop, where their Etsy page was waiting to go online. It was somehow quaint and yet so right to do this in his kitchen, with his father, Derek, and Peter present. They’d made an opulent brunch out of it, even going as far as sipping sparkling wine - in the teens’ case it really was just a sip. “Me neither.” 

“Did we really cross all the ts and dot the is?” Derek rumbled over Stiles’ other shoulder. Even he was nervous, and he’d been holding it together better than the rest of them put together. “No mistakes in the product descriptions? The prices are not too high?” 

“Do you really want to call your shop ‘Lil’ Red Badass’?” John asked, somewhat amused. He sat across from them at the Stilinski kitchen table, his newspaper open in front of him. 

“Isaac did that picture, and I do have a red hoodie, and we all liked it,” Stiles said defensively. At his father’s raised eyebrow he amended, “Okay, so Isaac and I liked it, but Peter snorted scotch when we told him and Derek didn’t argue, so that’s their own damn fault.” Stricken, he looked around at Derek. “Or do you want to change it?” 

“No, Stiles,” Derek said patiently. 

“And you?” Isaac asked Peter, who was leaning against the kitchen counter and nursing a third cup of his sinfully good Vietnamese coffee. 

“Why argue against such a fitting moniker?” the werewolf countered, an entertained smile lighting up his features. 

“Alright then,” Stiles murmured and took a deep breath. “Last chance.” 

Nobody said anything and after another moment of hesitation, Stiles clicked the button. 

“Well,” Isaac said. “That was anticlimactic.” 

“Speak for yourself. I’m sweating like crazy,” Stiles complained and demonstratively wiped his palms on his pants. He opened their profile and checked their listings again. Choosing the page for the gentle healing die, he said, “By the way, did we ever talk about failsafes?” 

“Not that I recall,” Peter said. “Although I had planned that talk for later, once the shop has gained something of a customer base.” 

Derek left his place at Stiles’ shoulder and sat down. “Why do you ask?” 

“Because it just occurred to me that _everybody’s_ able to order from us,” Stiles answered. “Even hunters. We wouldn’t even know, because who in this community uses their real name when they’re buying occult shit?” 

“Language, kid,” Stiles’ father admonished, nose already back in his newspaper. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m watching it. What I mean is, once we’re known in the community it’s only a matter of time until the bad guys will try to cash in on it,” Stiles continued. “I don’t want assholes to use our healing stuff, or even the good luck charms. Therefore, failsafes.” 

“Your magic does seem to be largely intent based,” Peter said calmly. “Why not build in a hidden feature, so to speak?” 

“I could, and I might have done that already,” Stiles admitted, “but I have no way of testing whether it’ll work. But I need it to work, or I won’t be able to sleep at night.” 

“Understandable, sweetheart,” Peter soothed him. “I’ll find a way for you to test it out.” 

“Already testing the boundaries, Hale?” John asked, flipping down the newspaper and levelling a _look_ at Peter. 

“It’s all very hands-off, I assure you,” Peter smirked. He pushed away from the counter. “I’m off for training. Isaac, you’re with me.” 

Without protest Isaac left Stiles’ side, taking up position by his alpha. 

Peter affectionately nudged the boy’s shoulder with his. “If that’s alright with you, John, I’d like to send Isaac back here later. The kids will need to pick out furniture for the workshop anyway and I don’t want either of them to be alone when I go patrolling tonight.” 

“Isaac’s always welcome here,” the sheriff said. “Is there any way you could warn me if you’re about to do something drastic?” 

“It’d require you to carry a burner phone and be prepared to lie about it,” Peter said unapologetically. “If you can do that, I’ll make it happen. If that conflicts with your morals, it’s better you do not know what’s going on.” 

The sheriff looked at him for a long moment, weighing the ramifications. At last he said, “I’ll take the phone, thank you.” 

Nodding once, Peter led Isaac out the backdoor. 

“Thanks, dad,” Stiles murmured, hunching up his shoulders a little. “I know that this sucks rocks for you.” 

His father put his paper down completely, giving Stiles all of his attention. “You know what? It doesn’t suck as much as I’d have thought. Hale’s solutions are a little drastic, sure, but in his own way he’s just doing what law enforcement is also trying to do. And considering how aggressive the Locos were, his response was appropriate. Keener and Beyers would’ve had cause to shoot their attackers in self-defence, had they had the opportunity. As it stands, Hale saved both their lives and no one at the station is going to ask too many questions about that bear who came to their rescue.” 

“He’ll try to be as discreet as possible,” Derek said quietly. 

“That might not be enough, though. You will help him if things should go FUBAR, right?” Stiles asked anxiously. 

“Well, I can’t get in the way of solid evidence, like surveillance cameras or smartphone videos,” the sheriff replied evenly. “But I’m prepared to lie and obfuscate when it comes to eyewitness reports. That’ll have to be enough if I want to keep my job.” He looked meaningfully at both his son and Derek. “Which is in all our best interest I do.” 

“Yep, it sure is,” Stiles said promptly, closing his laptop with a sharp little tap. “So, what are we gonna do now, Sourwolf? I’ve decided that sitting around and staring at the mailbox is out.” 

“Why don’t you use all that beautiful free time and invent a stealth talisman for Hale?” his father asked sarcastically. “That would probably save us a boatload of trouble.” 

Stiles stared at him, then at Derek, and then back at his father. 

“Grab your stuff, we’re going to Peter’s,” Derek said. He efficiently collected the used dishes and cutlery. 

“That was a _joke_ ,” John protested. “Hale doesn’t need a stealth talisman!” 

Stiles was already racing up the stairs. “Bye, pops! Isaac and I’ll be back for dinner!” 

oOo

“You’re the perfect guinea pig,” Stiles told Derek. They’d set up camp in Peter’s loft because it had furniture and cold drinks, as well as all the books Stiles might need in addition to his own notes. There also was the Argent scroll of financial absolution waiting, but Stiles was ignoring its presence resolutely. “Unlike Isaac, you know how to keep still.” 

“He’s ticklish,” Derek said. He waited patiently until Stiles was done drawing runes on his forearm and then inspected the work closely. “What do those runes mean?” 

Stiles took a much needed drink of water. “Well, runes sort of have layers, so a rune can have a certain meaning for health issues, but also mean something completely different for wealth, or power, or spirituality. In this instance, I chose raido for the journey you want to take. It also stands for the right path, cosmic order, movement, and dance. All useful if one needs to go somewhere for a specific purpose. Next is naudiz. It’s not commonly associated with stealth, but it does stand for disruption, in our case the disruption of the perception of potential witnesses, and the development of great power against opposition. In short, if someone’s on their guard, naudiz will use that energy to strengthen our spell. Then we have iwaz, which stands for protection, stamina, and liminal experiences. I thought it might help if Peter sort of moved through the shadows of reality so he wouldn’t trip security features or alert guards. It’s a literal interpretation, but so what. Magic will make it happen.” 

“That seems incredible, and there are so many of them. Are you sure they’re not cancelling each other out?” Derek questioned. He traced pertho, which Stiles had chosen for its meaning of ‘the secret’, and got a little magical pinch for his efforts. “Ow, they’re mean.” 

“Nah, they’re just trying to protect themselves from smushing,” Stiles smirked. “Of course there’s algiz; it’s the universal protector, in this case against discovery, and our high speed connection to the gods. It’s also sort of my failsafe because Peter, or whoever uses this, had better have a good reason for sneaking around, or this camouflage will fail. In fact, I’ve used almost the whole alphabet,” Stiles gestured at the almost completely covered arm, “but I cherry-picked the meanings I needed for this particular spell to work.” 

“It’d be impractical to always draw all that on someone,” Derek observed. “Will you make it into a bind runde?” 

“I’ll have to,” Stiles said. “But it’s gonna work out. I already have an idea on how to deal with the design part. After that I’ll make it into a stamp for short term talismans, and maybe invest in a branding iron for wood branding. It’ll be great, you’ll see.” 

Derek’s eyes were firmly on Stiles. “I trust you.” He got up. “We should go and test it out. The preserve would be ideal because of all the wildlife. The animals usually scatter as soon as someone runs through, so we’ll know immediately whether it works or not.” 

“I’d thought the mall, but whatever floats your boat. Just don’t expect me to run today, ‘kay?” Stiles snapped a few pictures of his notes and Derek’s arm, threw a writing pad, a byro, and a packet of sharpies into his backpack and filled the rest of the space with a couple bottles of water. “We’re taking the jeep.” 

“Of course we are, now that she’s as good as new,” Derek retorted smugly. 

They set off and made good time to the edge of the preserve, despite the families and kiddie groups also heading there for some time on the adventure trail. While they could’ve driven to the house, Stiles didn’t mind the trek in the fantastic summer weather, especially when they didn’t have a time limit. 

“Let’s go this way,” Derek suggested, pointing away from the popular path into the forest. “My family’s house is over there, although we don’t have to go there if you don’t want to. I know that you hate it.” 

“Do _you_ want to go there?” Stiles asked as he locked up the car. “I’d thought the place would be considered tainted after what The Bitch did.” 

“It is, but I still grew up there.” Derek pressed his lips together. “Sometimes, after the rain, I think I can still catch my family's scents.” 

That was the saddest thing Stiles had heard in a long time. He sincerely hoped that Kate Argent’s ripped off head had been eaten by martens, or better yet, crushed by wild boars. And that her soul burned in hell for eternity. 

“If that’s what you want, sure,” he said out loud, all pleasant and mellow. Stiles probably didn’t fool Derek for a second, but the werewolf said nothing, just started to walk into the preserve with single-minded determination. 

After a while, Stiles panted, “You know, we should’ve thought this through better. Unlike you, I’m not in stealth mode so the animals are still getting quiet around us.” 

“I know. When we’re at the house you can rest and I’ll roam around a bit to check it out. You’ll be able to hear their activity well enough from a distance.” 

Stiles threw an arm around Derek’s shoulders and let the man tow him along for a bit. “Sounds like a plan, dude.” 

Only a few dozen yards further Derek suddenly stopped in his tracks. “Someone’s out there.” He caught the breeze and sniffed intently. At once his face closed off and he scowled fiercely. “Deaton.” 

“What’s he doing here?” Stiles hissed. “We’re close to your family’s property, right?” 

Derek shifted in front of Stiles, nearly completely covering him. A moment later, Deaton stepped around a large tree trunk, face as placid as ever. 

“Mr. Stilinski … and Mr. Hale. I thought I’d heard voices. What a surprise.” Deaton eyed Derek weirdly, like he couldn’t completely grasp his presence. 

“Is it?” Derek asked menacingly. “You’re nearly on Hale land. Why?” 

“Only nearly,” Deaton replied, looking around unhurriedly and then patting the wicker basket he was carrying. “There are a lot of useful herbs to be found here.” His eyes came back to rest on Stiles. “I’m making supplemental herbal medicines for your friend Scott, Mr. Stilinski. Maybe you’ve heard that conditions in the juvenile detention center aren’t optimal for his health.” 

“I did,” Stiles answered, voice tight with anger at the blatant provocation. “Maybe in the future Scott will think twice before doing something stupid that’ll land him there again.” 

“I’m sure he’s full of regret for what the Argent family persuaded him into doing,” Deaton said smoothly. “I’ll certainly make it known at the hearing in two weeks. Gentlemen.” 

Deaton passed them with a healthy distance between himself and the growling werewolf by Stiles’ side and was soon lost among the trees and the shrubbery. 

“I’d totally forgotten about him,” Stiles said, staring after the man. “Do you think he was trespassing?” 

“It’s likely.” Derek still sounded a little growly and looked a lot pissed off. His glowing blue eyes were nearly lasering their surroundings, they were so bright. “My mother put a lot of effort into maintaining a diverse herb garden, both for cooking and for healing. Peter with his magic affinity helped a lot with making the plants flourish. We were sort of known for it. That’s why we enjoyed such good relationships with our neighbouring packs and other supernaturals.” 

“A herb garden is a good idea,” Stiles admitted, “but I don’t see how we could take care of it. Even with Erica and Boyd on board, we’d all be too busy.” 

Derek finally calmed himself enough to blink away the light in his eyes. “Well, once we got it up and running, the fae took over, for a share of the harvest. It was good. We used the raw material to trade for potions and things like that. Everyone was content.” 

“Do you think the fae are still around?” Stiles asked, spinning around and looking intently for sprites. 

“I don’t know.” Derek grabbed Stiles by the strap of his backpack and pulled him along. “We could find out over the summer.” 

“Our yard is probably out,” Stiles huffed. “Too many nosy neighbours, and we don’t have a lot of space. Your land would be perfect, but without wards creeps like Deaton could show up and steal everything. I'd rather drink bleach than allow that to happen.” 

“Maybe you’ll find a way to ward at least the garden itself, if not our territory as a whole,” Derek said. A bit quieter he confessed, “I’d like to try and rescue it.” 

“Man, you do whatever you want!” Stiles grabbed Derek’s arm in an awkward hug to lessen the strain on his backpack. “The shop’s probably not gonna do anything for a while yet, and Isaac and I won’t be running around all the time. If you wanna come here, have fun. It’s not like you’re hurting for money now and can plant whatever you like.” 

Derek made a surprised sound, like he had totally forgotten that the Argents had offered him around seven million dollars in damages. “You’re right, I do … once Peter finally gets around to signing it. Are you certain? Gardening is time consuming.” 

“Well, I’d hate to die at the hands of some locust wolf, but as long as you make time to play bodyguard, I’m totally good with it.” 

“Deal,” Derek said quickly. He slowed a little and threw Stiles a worried look. “You will try and ward the area around the ruin?” 

“‘course I will,” Stiles said, thoughts already gearing up for a mighty spin. 

Only a few minutes later they finally reached the burned out husk of a house. While everything was green now, it still looked desolate. Among all the overgrowth, Stiles couldn’t even begin to guess where the fabled garden once might have been. 

“The kitchen herbs were growing all around the house,” Derek explained. “Right along the walls, a yard and a half out. And a bit further out we had a pumpkin patch, a few apple and pear trees, berry bushes, and whatever else my mom could successfully plant.” He smiled lopsidedly. “With our appetite, it was a must to supplement the grocery shopping, or the people in town would've become suspicious.” 

“And the healing stuff? I’m guessing you had quite a few strains of wolfsbane on the premise,” Stiles asked. 

“We did, yes. My mom grew those plants in a closed off area far away from the playground, so the kids wouldn’t accidentally poison themselves. Peter warded it, actually.” 

“I didn’t know he was that good at magic,” Stiles said, surprised. Then he was annoyed that he was surprised because it wasn’t like Peter had ever made it a secret that he liked to practice the craft. 

Derek shrugged. “He could do rituals really well, bespeak things and stuff. But he can’t do what you can do, especially not on the fly. My mom used to joke that Peter should’ve been born human so he could make the most of his potential. He’d have made an outstanding emissary.” 

“Did he ever say he regretted being a werewolf?” Stiles sat on the porch and looked up at Derek. “Like, did he want to find a way to lose his wolf?” 

“No, never,” Derek replied. He looked around and listened carefully for a moment. “At most he wished that he were better at doing magic, but he never resented his nature.” 

“That’s good,” Stiles said decisively. “You lot have me now, and I’d rather not take someone’s wolf away again if I don’t have to. Not even if they ask.” 

“There might come a time where you have to.” 

Stiles exhaled. “I know. I’ll do it if there’s no other choice, but I just can’t imagine it for someone born that way. They’d have to have _very_ good reasons.” 

“Yes,” Derek agreed. “It’s a huge responsibility, but word will get out. I didn’t like how Deaton was looking at you ... he definitely knows what happened to Scott. You might want to prepare yourself for callers. Get stringent contracts ready, decide on an exorbitant price, that sort of thing. It’s politics more than trade, with things like this. Refusing outright would only breed resentment and endanger the pack.” 

“Fuck.” Stiles put his face in his hands. “Sometimes I can’t with all the weirdness.” 

“To be fair, it might mostly be hunters who want to cripple us,” Derek went on. “Which is a very good reason not to offer it as a service at all but like I said, if Deaton knows, others will know.” 

“He was looking at you a little funny,” Stiles griped. “Do we need to vanish him before he gets to us first?” 

“Peter wouldn’t lose any sleep over it,” Derek replied slowly. “Unfortunately, Deaton hasn’t done anything, yet, except being exceptionally useless in a crisis.” 

“Not to mention a thief,” Stiles muttered. “That’ll stop. And I think I know how. Why don’t you go on your prowl while I do some research?” 

Derek immediately loped off, ready for some action, and Stiles got out his writing utensils and began to scribble down questions and ideas like mad. He’d need the others to help but figured that they’d actually be glad to be so intimately involved in the creation of their new wards. 

Stiles worked for over an hour and only resurfaced when Derek reappeared before him. His shirt was wet with sweat and he looked very satisfied with himself. 

“The animals didn’t notice me, not even when I openly went after them,” the werewolf reported. “We’ll need more tests, but in the preserve your spell seems to work fine.” 

“Great!” Stiles said. He lobbed one of the water bottles at Derek. “I got a good head start, too. We should all have dinner at mine tonight and talk about it. Sound good?” 

“Yes, sounds good,” Derek agreed. 

“Then let’s go, we deserve some ice cream before we’re tracking down the others." He jumped up, only to stop dead in his tracks. "On second thought, let's not go right now. Since I'm already here, why don't you give me a moment to ward the house against any more intruders? The poor thing must be so fed up with being invaded by assholes.” 

"Houses are not people," Derek stated dryly. "And there isn't much to salvage, anyway."

"It's still important to you and Peter and deserves to be treated with respect," Stiles countered, uncapping his sharpie and quickly drawing several runes on the porch. "Five minutes and your family's ghosts will have some peace. Then, ice cream. At least three scoops each, my treat."

Derek didn't argue again and he walked very closely by Stiles' side the whole way back to the jeep.

**End of chapter 47**


	48. Chapter 48

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peeps, I did a thing and placed it in chapter 31, where it belongs, story-wise. Maybe you'll get a kick out of it - I certainly hope so. :)

**Chapter 48**

“We’ve all come together to discuss my new project ‘Warding Hale Land To Hell And Back’,” Stiles intoned grandly early in the evening. Once again everyone was assembled in the kitchen, glasses of fresh lemonade before them and sunshine streaming through the windows. In Stiles’ mind, his house was firmly establishing itself as the current pack central. “To make a long story short: since there’s apparently little chance of acquiring these super nifty magic crystals Peter’s told me about, I’ve decided that we’ll have to create our own ward stones. All we’ll need are durable stones, maybe granite, and a lot of acrylic colours, varnish, and time to alter them to suit our needs. With me so far?” 

The sheriff looked already lost while Peter seemed intrigued. 

Isaac raised his hand. “Us needing colours implies that we’ll have to paint those stones … ?” 

“Got it in one,” Stiles said brightly. “But don’t worry. We’ll start with warding Hale land, that’s not too many stones.” 

“Not that I’m complaining, but what brought this on?” John asked dubiously. 

“We met Deaton in the preserve this morning, very close to our borders,” Derek answered, arms crossed over his chest. “He was collecting plants, ostensibly to help McCall with his health issues. We suspect that he’s gotten them from our land, since a lot of what he’d harvested is still growing there.” 

“Seems like the good doctor is not above stealing,” Peter murmured. "And just when I stopped the city council from completing the condemnation order for the house." He shook his head mockingly. 

“That’s what I said,” Stiles said. “Since he’s a douchebag and Derek wants to restore his mom’s herb garden, we need the wards. Plus, it’ll be good to have a safe haven in the preserve, so suck it up, buttercups. You’re all being pressed into artistic service.” 

Stiles’ father groaned. “I don’t have time for this, Stiles.” 

“Yes, you do,” Stiles retorted implacably. “You’re part of this family, and we need your help, even if it’s just for an hour on the weekends.” 

“What’s your plan?” Peter asked. “How do you want to work with the stones?” 

Pointing at Isaac, Stiles said, “That’s actually his area of expertise, but I googled for a bit and found out that ward stones that have been handled by all the members of a pack are much stronger than ones that have been treated negligently.” He glared at the others. “I do not neglect my people, therefore we’ll _all_ do it right. We’ll make a plan for painting, even develop a production line if we have to, and create ward stones that’ll keep away thieves, dangerous animals, and criminals.” 

“Okay,” Isaac said easily. “How soon can we start?” 

“As soon as we’ve ordered the things we’ll need,” Stiles replied. “Which will happen tonight.” 

“Cool.” 

Stiles added, “I figured that we could have Erica and Boyd over to help. Even if they don’t know what the stones are for, that way they’ll be included and it’ll be fun.” 

“If you can do that here as long as they’re not read in, I approve,” Peter said. He turned and picked up his messenger bag. “With that lovely surprise dealt with, you all know what finally needs to happen.” 

“The Argent offer,” Stiles sighed. “It never seemed like the right time, dude.” 

“I know, because there simply is no such a thing as the right time in these circumstances. It’s _never_ easy accepting a price for the blood of one’s loved ones.” Peter opened the bag and pulled out the large leather cylinder. “But it needs to be done if we want to move forward. This time is as good as any; none of us have changed their minds about this and we’re close to holding the Argents’ offer in contempt.” 

“You could’ve signed any time,” Derek told him a little mulishly. “Why didn’t you?” 

“Because it’s for all of us, and because I want to prove a point to the Argents. I’m not alone, and I won’t be taken out so easily again.” Peter took the scroll from its leather sheath and carefully unrolled it on the table. Next came a fountain pen, a bottle of ink, and a set of sterilized needles. “You’re all invited to sign, although you don’t have to if you have concerns about your safety.” 

“Are you really going to put blood into the ink?” John asked, sounding like he was severely questioning Peter’s sanity. 

“The blood is where the magic is,” Peter returned, pricking his finger with a claw and letting three drops of blood fall into the ink. “There, that’s enough for the Argents’ magic user to determine my identity.” 

Isaac went next but then things got weird when Derek, who stood next to him, refused to do it. 

“Stiles needs to go next,” Peter said succinctly at John’s raised eyebrows. “It’s our current hierarchy.” 

“Can I even do this, if I’m not in your pack yet?” Stiles asked uncertainly, fingers twitching a little by the packet of needles. 

“You can,” Peter assured him. He smirked. “In fact, your magic will reflect your new status as a human alpha, which will surely send the Argents into a tizzy.” 

“I’m not sure Stiles should do this, then,” the sheriff pointed out. “I’m worried about more of those hunters coming after him.” 

“Understandable,” Peter agreed. “But he already is an entity in the supernatural community and short of ruthlessly suppressing his gifts nothing will change this. At this point he’d be better protected if he were associated with the Hale pack. We were respected, before, and I strive to reclaim that status. The Argents won’t be a problem now, if they want to protect themselves from our Council’s wrath.” 

“I’m not sure this’ll keep you safe,” John said to Stiles, “but you seem to have your heart set on this, so I won’t forbid it. But I hope you’re very certain that this is what you want for your life, because I don’t think you can back out that easily if you discover that this is not for you, after all.” 

“Thanks, dad. Believe it or not, I’ve spent some sleepless nights thinking about this.” Stiles smiled crookedly. “It really feels right, though, and I actually think I have to, as Derek’s new alpha. I don’t know whether he could do it without me.” 

“He actually could, since he’s a Hale and the offer pertains to us, but it would reflect in the magic of the contract,” Peter explained. “It’s unfortunate but nothing we can change.” 

“We don’t need it to change,” Stiles said firmly. “Unless Derek doesn’t want to sign, then it’s a moot point.” 

“I’ll sign,” Derek declared. “Peter’s right, it’s better to show a united front.” 

“How about you, pops?” Stiles asked, and all eyes settled on the sheriff. “You’re the mundanes’ head honcho where law enforcement is concerned. It’d look good if they saw that you were on board.” 

“I’m concerned about my own safety, too, you know,” John huffed. “That family already thought they’d replace someone with one of their own, and got away with it for far too long.” 

“But look at what happened to them,” Peter replied with a sharp smile. “We won’t let it happen again.” 

“They’ll have a hard time getting past all of us, now,” Stiles added, “and I know for a fact that the school board is insisting on thorough background checks now. You’ve always investigated your deputies nearly to death before they are even allowed in for a personal discussion, dad, but I’ll make a protection charm for you that you can wear around the neck or wherever it’s in the way the least, if that’ll make you feel better.” 

“Hell, kid, it’s still asking a lot,” the sheriff sighed, rubbing his chin. He stared at the contract. “I know nothing about your secret community, and I can’t do an even halfway accurate risk assessment. It’s giving me hives.” 

“That’s something we can remedy going forward,” Peter said. “I’m in the process of writing a primer about the supernatural world that’s geared towards bringing in mundanes specifically. I hope you’ll find it helpful.” 

“How soon can you be finished?” Stiles’ father wanted to know. 

“Give me a few more weeks and the draft should be done.” Peter placed a hand on John’s shoulder and just kept it there. “Even if it’s not something you want to have overly much to do with, it’ll help. Your son belongs in this world now and he needs you as his touchstone.” 

The sheriff nodded slightly. “He’ll always have me.” He grimaced. “But I’m really not on board with signing things in blood. Yikes.” 

“It’s just a couple of drops,” Stiles consoled him. “No worse than a quick blood sugar test at the pharmacy.” He picked up a needle, cleaned his finger with a little disinfection wipe, and pricked the skin at the side of the finger pad without looking. “Ow, damnit. There, three drops. And done.” Despite his bravado, Stiles felt a little faint at the sight of his bloody finger. 

“Good show, kid,” his father snarked. 

Derek went next, completely unaffected, and then John, sighing and bitching, used the last needle to add his own blood to the ink. 

“Thank you, John,” Peter murmured. “I appreciate your support.” He gave the capped ink bottle a quick shake, opened it again, and dipped the fountain pen in. “Here we go.” 

Elegantly, Peter scrawled his full name onto the vellum first, afterwards motioning for Isaac to do the same. Stiles balked a little at having to write out his real name but complied in the end when Peter pointed out that names held immense power. For a contract of this magnitude nothing less would do. Derek followed and then the sheriff. 

“And now?” Isaac asked into the tense silence. “Was that it?” 

Before their eyes, the contract suddenly rolled itself back up with a snap and, in a flash of burning light, doubled like a cell during cell division. Stiles felt the magic at work brushing against him, even tearing at his physical sense of self. It wasn’t unlike he imagined being sucked in by a black hole might feel like. It was unsettling in the extreme and he had to work hard not to lash out. 

“What the hell!” the sheriff shouted. He grasped Stiles’ hand in a purely instinctual gesture of parental protection. 

As soon as it had begun, the universe-tearing unrest stopped, only to be replaced by an even more intense sense of urgency that made Stiles yearn to go to faraway places. It was creepy how much he reacted to this impulse and he was glad for his father’s anchoring grip.

Isaac took cover behind Peter when the double of the contract abruptly flared for a second and then vanished in a rich burst of golden glitter. 

The following absence of magic was deafening, both in reality and mentally. Stiles was shaken to the core, all his bravado gone in the face of such power. 

“It’s okay,” Derek murmured. “It’s done now.” 

“No,” Stiles croaked. “It’s not. That was _sick_. Holy shit.” 

Peter stood and stepped around the table so he could curl a hand around Stiles’ neck. “You’re quite sensitive to magic.” 

“You mean you _didn’t_ feel that?” Stiles questioned a little hysterically. “Dude, that was a vortex of cold destruction!” 

“Actually that was a fairly standard transportation spell,” Peter said, frowning. He crouched down and took Stiles’ face in his hands. “Your pupils are blown. And you’re shaking. Derek, would you please take him up to his room? He needs rest and a good meal later.” 

“Don’t wanna sleep,” Stiles protested. 

“I know, but you need to,” Peter replied softly. “That was clearly a shock to you. We’ll wake you when dinner’s ready. Maybe I’ll also have some answers then.” 

“I’ll keep you company,” Isaac offered. He rubbed his arms where the little hairs were still standing up. “I didn’t much like it either.” 

Since the adrenaline was dropping rapidly now, Stiles only put up one more token protest when Derek hauled him up and away like a sack of potatoes. Once his head touched his pillow, he was out like a light. 

oOo

That night, after dinner, Peter couldn’t offer any definite answers, but he did have quite a few suppositions and ideas on how to deal with the newest curveball life had just thrown at them. Stiles couldn’t help but feel hopeful when faced with Peter’s relative unconcern. 

“Before we dive in, I think our main focus should be on how to make you less sensitive to foreign magic,” Peter said to Stiles. He dabbed his mouth with a napkin. In front of him, a huge salad bowl stood empty, and on a plate in the middle of the table a mountain of grilled shrimp remains bore witness to the carnage three werewolves and two hungry humans had wrought on four pounds of them. “You’re learning fast, which is good, but that might also be the reason why you aren’t acclimating properly.” 

“How do you mean?” Stiles’ father asked. 

“I haven’t found any information on truly similar cases, but I believe that we can liken Stiles’ development to the growth of a snake. Snakes are most vulnerable after a shedding, with the skin gradually toughening up again once the growth spurt is over. With Stiles it seems more like he’s been growing constantly for a couple of months now and therefore isn’t toughening up enough to protect himself from outside elements.” He shrugged. “I can’t say whether this growth spurt is normal or not for a magic user, as they’re all so individual, even among users of the same branch. Only time will tell if this’ll be the only growth spurt, or if it will stop soon and others will follow in the coming years.” 

“Regardless of whether it’ll be the only one or one of many, what can I do about it?” Stiles asked. “I might have forgotten Deaton, but meeting him in the preserve was already uncomfortable. I don’t wanna find out how shitty he could make me feel by actually using magic against us.” 

“If you’re not able to build up a natural resistance by yourself, and it doesn’t seem likely just now, we simply have to get you a protective cloak, so to speak,” Peter answered. “A talisman should work out fine, it’s just a question of finding the right one to suit your needs.” 

“You don’t sound overly concerned,” John stated suspiciously. “Does that happen often?” 

Peter took a moment to order his thoughts. “It’s not _uncommon_ , for a lot of reasons. Some supernatural species simply develop that way and are vulnerable until they reach adulthood. Other magic users are merely advancing further than others, once their gifts have woken up. Stiles is probably one of them. To compensate for that rapid onset of new abilities, something has to give, in this instance his natural shield against outside forces.” 

John turned to stare at his son. “How did this even happen?” 

“I’m afraid that this might actually be my fault,” Peter admitted. 

“What?” The sheriff’s eyes widened even further. 

“At the beginning of our negotiations I gave Stiles a bag of mountain ash, purely for his protection against supernatural threats. I wasn’t quite right back then and wanted him to feel safe in my and Derek’s presence.” Peter smiled slightly. “I couldn’t have dreamed what that little gift would set free in your son. He’s utterly remarkable.” 

“Wait, let me get this straight: if you’d never met my son, he would be living a normal life right now?” Stiles’ father asked. 

Peter gave the man an understanding look. “Not me, specifically. I rather think that any contact with the supernatural might have had that impact on him. You need to realize that Stiles has always had the potential within him. Chances were high that it’d have manifested eventually.” 

“He must’ve gotten it from his mother,” John murmured, sinking back in his chair. “She _was_ particular about her hobbies, and very good at them. Her garden …” He slowly looked back up to Peter. “She went to a gardening club, once a month.” 

“My sister was a member,” Peter confirmed. “They’ll have known each other, although Talia didn’t talk often about her friends there. She rather firmly kept her two lives separated, for obvious reasons.” 

“So, the contact between your sister and my wife could’ve egged baby Stiles on?” 

At this, Peter chuckled. “Knowing Stiles, I wouldn’t put it past him.” 

“Hey,” Stiles pouted, “I’ll have you know that I like who I am, insatiable curiosity and all.” 

“I like who you are, too,” his father assured him warmly. “Heck, kid, your mom would probably love what you’re able to do.” He sobered a little, his lined face betraying the lingering sadness. “Just don’t get hurt, okay? Get that talisman, and promise me to get enough rest at night.” 

“Yeah.” Stiles cleared his throat. “So, everyday it’s something new, huh?” 

John tiredly grabbed his son’s shoulder, giving it a long squeeze. “Kid, you’re just fulfilling your mother’s promise. She told me that I’d never get bored, and boy was she right.” 

oOo

Super fast shipping made everything an adventure, Stiles discovered. He, Derek, and Isaac were busy all Monday setting up their worktables, storing units, and shelves on the third floor of Peter’s building. Isaac insisted on placing the huge tables beneath the large windows to catch as much natural light as possible, while Derek was firm on putting the huge shelves furthest from the door to make theft even harder than their security system and Stiles’ wards already would. They even reverently placed their first few finished products in their labelled spaces and admired them for a moment. It wasn’t much, but it was still making them giddy. 

“If we’re gonna work here all day, we’ll need a fridge and a sound system, and of course a TV,” Isaac said, surveying the results of their hard work. With all the furniture in place now, and utensils for ward stone creation stored in containers, drawers, and crates, the space looked a lot less huge already. “I’ll unpack and hook up my PC, printers, and scanners tonight when I'm alone. Next time you come here and have put away the last of your stuff we can jump right in.” 

“I can’t wait,” Stiles admitted. “This is so huge, I can’t even.” 

“Don’t forget that you’re meeting Erica and Boyd tomorrow,” Derek reminded them, slowly herding them towards the heavy entrance door. 

“It’ll be good to get out,” Isaac said. “There haven’t been any orders yet, anyway, so we’ve got some free time ahead.” 

“How long do you think until someone gives us a chance?” Stiles wondered. 

Shrugging, Isaac replied, “It’ll happen when it happens.” 

“Since when are you so zen about it?” Stiles asked, stumbling after Isaac and giving Derek, who’d rescued him from a tumble, a grateful look. “Have you smoked something?” 

“No, but I’ve admitted defeat and started that comic about the pack’s history,” Isaac said, casually dropping that bombshell like it wasn’t absolutely newsworthy. “At least, from the point of my discovery of the supernatural. The character is fiction, of course, but he’ll discover stuff like we do, more or less as he goes along. That sort of pushed back the urgency about the shop a lot.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Stiles demanded, pushing Isaac’s rock hard shoulder and budging the other teen exactly not at all. “That’s so awesome!” 

“Peter caught me doodling scenes and designs. I guess he realized that I was serious about it and decided to let me do it. I just can’t publish it, obviously, but I don’t care about that. Sooner or later The Council will let us know whether we can put it online and that’s enough for me. I just want to draw.” 

“I want a signed copy of every print, first edition of course!” Stiles grinned. “Wait until Erica and Boyd hear about this. They’ll be brought up to speed before they know it, and help you draw it, too.” 

Stiles and Isaac further discussed the comic while setting the table for dinner while Derek ordered Vietnamese food for all of them. It was a testament to how far they’d come as friends and family that he barely tensed at Peter’s arrival half an hour later. Isaac, of course, threw himself unabashedly at his alpha for a hug, and Stiles indulged shamelessly as well when Peter drew him close for scenting. Their hug was a lot looser, which didn’t keep Stiles from doing some light reconnaissance of Peter’s shoulder and back muscles. In return, the man’s nose tickled Stiles’ neck and Stiles could almost believe that there was a whisper of lips at his throat when Peter finally drew back. 

For a moment they stared at each other, questioning and a little heated, and then, by mutual agreement, put some space between them and settled at the table like nothing at all had happened. 

Stiles felt guilty, of course, but a quick look at Isaac merely earned him a lopsided, tolerant smile, and Derek was a solid, soothing presence by his side, as usual. 

  
_I have the best friends in the world_ , Stiles decided, relaxing into the addictive feeling of belonging right there. Suddenly having to wait nearly a whole year until he could explore the obvious chemistry between himself and Peter didn't seem so daunting anymore. _I can do this._ All _of it._

He just hoped that life got that memo because even with the Argent problem finally dealt with they still had far too much to deal with.

**End of chapter 48**


	49. Chapter 49

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm getting excited about this new arc in the story and I hope you'll like it, too. :)

**Chapter 49**

Their bicycle tour took the four teens to the one designated bicycle and jogging path that was winding its way around Beacon Hills’ few sights and through the public parts of the preserve. There were three routes staked out: one for leisure bikers with just ten miles; one for people who wanted to exhaust themselves, or their kids, with twenty miles; and the longest stretch for true enthusiasts was a whopping forty miles. Stiles knew that it was doable, but out of concern for Erica’s somewhat limited constitution they all decided on the shortest route with a very long picnic pause planned in, and see whether they could brave the longer routes later in the summer. 

“I know that you’re all probably itching to tire yourselves out,” Erica said as they met at the start of the path at the preserve. “Thanks again for going easy on me. To make it a bit more bearable for you I’ve brought toys!” Beaming, she rummaged in her backpack and pulled out two neon coloured frisbees and a handful of badminton birdies. “Boyd has the battledores.” 

“Awesome!” Stiles grinned. “I’m sure we’ll all have a good time.” He nodded at Derek. “Especially since that one and his uncle took care of our lunch.” 

“I do adore a man who can cook,” Erica replied with a wink. 

They set off and pedalled into the preserve slowly, not just giving Erica time to get accustomed to the bike, but to refresh all of their muscle memory. Stiles hadn’t used his bicycle since obtaining his driver’s licence, and while he hadn’t forgotten how to do it, he wasn’t as secure riding on it as he’d like. 

“Americans are dumb not to do this more often,” Boyd said after a while of contented driving. He pointedly looked around at the lush trees, the laughing kids racing ahead of them, and the elderly people walking a bit off in the woods and picking up trash. “It’s restful.” 

“I like it, too,” Erica said. “My mom and I go Nordic Walking when the weather’s good, but this is much better. You get to see more.” 

“Didn’t your parents go riding with you?” Isaac asked. 

Erica shook her head, blond curls flying. “Nah, I had a couple really bad seizures while on a bike when I was twelve, so we stopped. But I’m a bit better now and you’re with me, so here I am. And it’s great!” 

“I would probably be too chicken to just try again,” Stiles admitted. “We didn’t exactly give you a lot of warning.” 

“That’s because I really wanted to go. Don’t worry, I practiced all of last week with Boyd,” Erica confided. “He also got my old bike ready, so I’m as safe as can be.” 

They went for another three miles and then stopped at the designated resting space. There was a bistro and benches, but Stiles and his friends opted to lay out their blanket a little away from the screaming kids and gossiping adults and have a real picnic, ants and all. 

Not long into their break, however, they hadn’t even finished their sandwiches, Isaac and Derek suddenly stiffened. 

“What is it?” Stiles asked, alarmed. 

Derek’s jaw tightened. “Motorcycles, two of them. There might be trouble.” 

Erica stared at them. “Really? How do you know? I can’t hear a thing.” 

“You will soon enough. Shit.” Stiles threw his unfinished sandwich back into its tupper box. “Should we hide out somewhere?” 

“Too late,” Isaac said shortly. “They’re fast.” He winced. “And pushing others off the path. Assholes.” 

And he was right. The roar of motorcycles reached the human ears now, too, and confused and annoyed mutters could be heard. A minute later, two guys in heavy black leathers on even heavier Harleys screeched to a stop by the clearing. Both were wearing open helmets, large black sunglasses and bandanas over their mouths and noses hid their faces completely. 

“Stilinski!” one of them shouted, revving up his engine and laughing loudly at the alarmed shrieks of some women and children. “Show yourself, little boy! We got a present for you!” 

Derek made to hold Stiles down, but Stiles shook his head at him. 

“Isaac’s filming and I’ve already dialled my dad. Let’s see what they want before they get the bright idea to harass the bystanders,” he murmured. 

“I don’t like it,” Derek hissed. 

Stiles pressed his lips together but stood. “What do you assholes want!” he shouted. 

The bikers laughed again, one of them unstrapping a cloth-wrapped package from his torso. 

“Just saying hello, kid!” the man yelled back. He used a lighter to light up a fuse and lobbed the package over the clearing. “Have fun!” 

Derek was up in a flash, catching the package out of the air with an impressive jump, and threw it back at the bikers, who were trying to leave the scene with squealing tires - _hard_. 

People screamed when it detonated, and screamed again even louder when an unholy stench immediately assaulted their noses.

The biker who’d actually been hit by the bomb lost control over his Harley and swerved into his screaming comrade, making both of them crash in a tangle of limbs and metal. In a way they were lucky that Derek hadn’t hit them at full speed, because that’d definitely have done some lasting damage. 

“Holy mother of fuck, that’s disgusting!” Erica cried, covering her face with both hands. “What _is_ that?” 

“Skunk sap,” Isaac groaned with watering eyes. “I’ll kill them!” 

“Stay with Erica!” Stiles ordered. He whipped off his T-shirt to protect his airways from the stink and went after Derek, who was already by the bikers and tying them up with their own bandanas with extreme prejudice. That they were lying in their own skunk slime and wailing like babies about their burns was poetic justice at its finest. 

“Dad?” Stiles shouted into his phone to get heard over his father’s impressive cussing. “We’re all fine, promise. Send help, especially someone who can get rid of skunk stink.” He looked around and saw that several people had lost their lunch already. “Fuck, it’s like _The Exorcist_ around here. People are skedaddling fast, but Isaac’s keeping up the filming so you can find them later.” 

“Don’t move!” the sheriff ordered and then hung up. 

“I’d like to kill them,” Derek said to Stiles, roughly pressing down on both the bound guys’ backs. His eyes were glowing blue. “Can I?” 

“Fuck you!” one biker shouted hoarsely. 

Stiles crouched down by the men’s faces and cocked his head. Going for a thoughtful villain impression might instill some fear into those guys … he certainly hoped so. 

“Eh, no, not gonna happen. You a member of the Lobster Wolfies?” 

“We are _The Lobos Locos_!” the man snarled, fighting futilely against Derek's hold. “What the fuck steroids is he on?!” 

“Wouldn’t you like to know. Listen up, Locust Dudes, I don’t like your presents,” Stiles said with infuriating calm, although his nose was begging to die right about now. “If you plan on delivering more of those, my buddy should maybe deal with you real quick, to thin out your little group’s ranks. He could make it look like an abnormally vicious animal attack. The bad thing about it would be that it’d also _feel_ like an abnormally vicious animal attack. So what do you say? Yay or nay?” 

The other of the men spat at him. “You’d never, you little shit! Sheriff’s son, hah!” 

Stiles grinned slowly and as meanly as he could, which, Isaac had assured him, was _a lot_. “Oh boy. You have no idea what you’ve brought onto yourself.” He patted the guy’s bearded cheek condescendingly just as sirens could be heard in the distance. “Have fun in jail, you ineffectual little jerks. My dad’ll be sure to make it extra unpleasant for you. Oh, and you can bet that I’ll get your names.” 

“Two minutes,” Derek murmured. 

Stiles’ smirk widened as he uncapped his sharpie. “Enough time to encourage those two to sing like Maria Carey at a sold out concert.” 

Quickly he painted a couple of runes onto the men’s necks, well hidden beneath the collars of their leather jackets. The bikers cursed and struggled against Derek, who was absolutely done with the situation. 

Then, half a dozen police cruisers pulled to a stop at the clearing and doors flew open. 

“Stiles!” the sheriff shouted, handcuffs already out. “Are you alright?” 

“Sure thing, daddio,” Stiles replied, getting up and stepping back as soon as the bikers had been cuffed. “Derek single-handedly apprehended both of them with his mad skills. Isaac should have it on camera.” 

“Downside is, we stink,” Derek growled. “Can we go wash before it’s too late to get it off?” 

“It’s mostly the hands and some aerosolized stuff on our clothes,” Stiles consoled his somewhat overwhelmed father. “We could go by the station for our statement later, after a shower.” 

“Yes, go,” the sheriff decided, narrowing his eyes on the two bikers. His deputies were throwing blankets around them so they wouldn’t sully their uniforms while they were being dragged to a portable shower that was already being set up. “Scrub down thoroughly, I really don’t need to smell that inside the station for the next four weeks. First aid for washing should be back there.” 

Stiles saluted and dragged Derek over to the police van that was offering a special mix of hydrogen peroxide, dishwater detergent, and sodium bicarbonate to the traumatized people. 

“Over here, Stiles!” Tara Graeme called and waved them over. “We got an extra bucket ready for you when we learned that you’re in the thick of things. Hi, Mr. Hale.” 

Derek nodded at her and dunked his hands into the bucket without further ado. Stiles let him scrub down his hands and arms thoroughly before joining him and doing the same. 

“Is everything alright?” Erica’s breathless voice sounded from behind them. “Did you get hurt?” 

“Nah, Derek took them out neatly,” Stiles returned proudly, sloshing more liquid over his forearms and rubbing with his sponge. “It’s just the stink that’s bothering us, but this helps a lot.” 

“We’ll have to burn our clothes,” Derek muttered, scowling. 

Boyd cleared his throat. “That was a damn fine reaction to their attack, Derek.” 

“Right?” Erica nearly plastered herself against Stiles’ back. “I was frozen with shock. Like, how did you even jump that high?” 

Stiles, who’d known the second Derek had openly displayed some of his werewolf abilities that they’d need to do damage control, had already thought of an answer. “Well, I wasn’t gonna say anything, but people will ask … I think we need to tell them, Derek.” 

Derek looked searchingly at him. “Will it be uncomfortable?” 

“For a while,” Stiles told him. “Sorry about that. It’s better than the pitchforks, though.” 

Rolling his eyes, Derek returned to his scrubbing, leaving it to Stiles to give a plausible explanation. 

“Derek sort of suffers from PTSD,” Stiles said bluntly. “Because of what the Argents did to his family. That’s why he threw the bomb at the Lolos and not into the trees.” 

“Heightened adrenaline response,” Boyd murmured. “Good for us today, but sucky when it’s not needed. Can’t say I mind that you caught the guys, though, Derek. I’m guessing the sheriff is of the same opinion.” 

“Yeah, he’ll be, once he’s done yelling at us for having such bad luck on our first outing. And Derek’s dealing okay with it, most of the time,” Stiles went on, “so don’t make a big deal out of it, okay? My dad already knows, so there won’t be too many remarks if he can help it.” 

“Nah, that’s totally cool,” Erica said, still a little shaky. “Thanks again, Derek. I appreciate it very much that you kept that bomb from exploding in all of our faces. Who cares how you did it.” 

Boyd nodded his agreement, but his keen eyes rested on Stiles and Derek for a moment longer before he turned to pry Erica away from Stiles so the teen could continue washing himself. 

On the way to Peter’s home they didn’t talk, mainly because they needed their breath to get over there as quickly as - in Stiles’ case - humanly possible. 

Once inside the building, they left the bikes on the empty first floor and stormed up, Derek vanishing into his own bathroom for a shower and Isaac dragging Stiles along to Peter’s apartment, where they occupied both bathrooms. The glower Isaac sent Peter, who’d come to investigate their bodily integrity and offer plastic bags for their clothes, was epic. 

“I’ll just wait out here,” Peter said mildly, only to get two doors slammed in his face. 

It hurt Stiles a little to place his beloved graphic T-shirt into the plastic bag and seal it, but everything he’d worn smelled bad enough to make any attempt at salvaging it a moot point. Aerosols were mean that way, especially when one threw hypersensitive werewolves into the mix.

Since he really didn’t have much left to wash off, thank god, Stiles hurried through his shower, sniffed himself critically after stepping out to make absolutely sure that he wasn’t stinking anymore, and gingerly opened the bathroom door to snatch up whatever clothes Peter had laid out for him. They were obviously Isaac’s, which was both disappointing and reassuring. 

At last, Stiles spent some minutes in front of the mirror, trying to get his hair back into its usual style with some of Peter’s hair products. While it worked differently than his own and was therefore a little frustrating, the subtle smell of the stuff was absolutely gorgeous. 

“All done with the decontamination?” Peter asked, a half-smile curling up the corner of his mouth. 

“I hope so,” Stiles griped. “You tell me if I was successful.” 

“Oh, gladly, sweetheart.” Without hesitation Peter came up to Stiles and pulled him into an embrace. “Smells fine to me. You obviously scrubbed your hands well at the scene.” He held Stiles for a moment longer and then retreated slightly. “I’m sorry that this happened to all of you. I can only assume that Erica was terrified.” 

“She dealt pretty well with it,” Stiles said. “Thankfully. I was afraid that the shock at the explosion might cause her to seize or something.” 

“Isaac carries several med pack cards with him, as well as a turquoise die,” Peter soothed him. “Even if she had, it probably wouldn’t have been a disaster.” 

“I’d rather not find out, but yeah. He’s a good wolf scout.” Stiles slunk over to Peter’s monstrosity of a couch and let himself flop onto it. “I can’t believe those Lobo guys managed to drive right into Beacon Hills.” 

“Me neither,” Peter agreed. He handed Stiles a glass of water. “Your father must be frothing at the mouth. I’m glad Derek was there to protect you because the FBI is obviously useless. I’m also glad that you see no problem with getting their names later because I'd like to have words with them.” 

“Nope, no problem at all, they have it coming.” Greedily, Stiles drank the water down. “Whew, thanks. I needed that! I can’t wait to see what Isaac has filmed. I hope he managed to catch Derek’s epic throwback.” 

Peter’s smile broadened to a vicious, beautiful thing. “He was always very good at ball sports, especially basketball.” 

Isaac came out of his bathroom, still scowling. With a careless flip he lobbed his phone across the room at Peter. “Here, you can watch the video. I’ll get something to eat since _someone_ so rudely interrupted our lunch. I'll never get those pastrami sandwiches back!” 

“Me neither,” Stiles agreed mournfully and scrambled to join Isaac in the kitchen area. “You have something we can warm up?” 

They found a large tub of creamy leek soup with ground beef in the freezer and put it in a pot to reheat. Peter, being the snob that he was, eschewed microwaves and so the teens had to wait impatiently for their food to thaw. 

“I should develop a heating spell for food,” Stiles grumbled as Isaac poked at the thick block of greenish soup. 

“Please do,” Isaac muttered. He cranked up the heat. “How about coffee while we wait? You make the best lattes.” 

Stiles complied, making four just in case Derek wanted something sweet to calm his nerves. 

“Mmh, thank you,” Peter murmured and took the caramel latte Stiles brought him. His eyes never left the screen of Isaac’s phone. “Yes, Derek's pitch was indeed excellent, but I must say that I also like how you handled the Lobo members. May I ask what runes you put on them?” 

“Oh, just something to make it easier for my dad to interrogate them,” Stiles said airily. “You know, a rune for truth, a rune to share … that kind of stuff. We’ll see how it works, or _if_ it even works.” 

“It will,” Peter replied confidently. He put the phone aside. “You really kept a cool head in the face of danger.” 

“Sheriff’s kid here,” Stiles shrugged. “What really helped was Isaac thinking of recording everything, which totally escaped me, and of course Derek doing his superman thing.” 

“You immediately called your father, which was arguably even more important with all the mundanes in danger. You all performed admirably under stress. Unfortunately his event highlights the need for some training.” 

“Training?” Stiles asked, wary. “What sort of training?” 

“Don’t worry, I won’t press you into PT with Derek,” Peter smirked, “but I believe that we could all benefit from some general lessons in problem-focused coping. Who does what in any given situation, that sort of thing.” 

“Yeah, sure, I can get behind that,” Stiles agreed. “You have a plan for that already?” 

“Only what worked for my family, which was much more diverse with regards to numbers and talent, but we can go from there. Each of us has different strengths so we’ll work with those first. But we also need to compensate for weaknesses, so specialized training will definitely be in our future.” 

Stiles chewed on his lip for a moment. “Mmmh, good thinking. Say, since you’re rather well-read in magical theory … if I taught all of you some basic runes, and if you were to draw them in certain situations … could I make them work even if I’m not in the same place? Do you think that's possible?” 

Peter’s face lit up with pure admiration and wonder. “Why, I think it’s at least worthy of investigation, Stiles. We’ll make it a priority to find out because if we _were_ able to at least create protective wards in an emergency, that’d be a huge boon to the pack’s safety.” 

“Yeah, I thought so,” Stiles said, warmth spreading through him at the praise. “I mean, if we’re a pack, it’s only fair that you get to use my magic. After all, I’ve got a wolf spirit from you to help me out, too.” 

“Ah, that reminds me.” Peter got up and joined them at the stove. “I’m ready to let Lou go, and he’s more than ready to finally merge with you for good.” 

“Are we doing this now?” Stiles asked, heart starting to beat faster with excitement. 

“We can, if you wish,” Peter said. “But I’d like for you to consider two things. The first is the fact that Lou might choose to remain outside you, like he did the night you took him from The Failure. That means that he’ll be seen, especially if he chooses to act like a tattoo. The second is that he might choose to get inside you, like he is right now with me, but such an amount of mountain ash might be poisonous to a human and put at least some strain on Lou’s healing ability, should he even have any in his current form of existence.” 

Stiles deflated a little. “You’re right. I hadn’t thought about any of this." He straightened again und lifted his chin a little. "But I want him, Peter. I don’t care what artistics I’ll have to perform to hide him. We’ll work it out as we go along. Right now I’d say let him roam around on my skin, and if he really needs to hide, he can just … get inside. I’ll have my med packs, I can deal with it if the ash is really poisonous to me.” He reached out and grinned helplessly when Peter’s eyes began to glow in that pretty amber beta gold. "Hey, Lou."

“Alright. That was all I needed to hear,” Peter said.

The door to the apartment opened and Derek strolled in, looking very freshly scrubbed, and vaguely excited. 

“You weren’t going to do this without me, were you?” he asked casually. 

Stiles snorted. “Never, dude! That’s, like, a moment for our pack grimoire!” 

“I thought I’d film it with the digicam,” Isaac offered. “That way it won’t be accessible via the net, and I can watch it as often as needed until I've drawn the scene.” 

“We’ve got a plan,” Peter said, pleased at everyone’s enthusiasm. “Once we’re fed, we’ll make some more history.” 

Stiles and Isaac cheered and even Derek looked thoroughly satisfied with how the day was turning out. 

**End** **of** **chapter 49**


	50. Chapter 50

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wohoooo! You guys! We made it to chapter 50!!! When I started this fic I really couldn't imagine what an exercise in world building this would become, but I love it. Even better, you love it too! <3 If that's not a reason to celebrate, I don't know what is, haha. It's even a special episode because so much stuff is happening. I hope you'll have fun reading!

**Chapter 50**

Through lucky circumstances, Stiles was even able to convince his father to come to Peter’s in the early evening. Sure, there was the promise of the best pizza Beacon Hills had to offer involved, but mostly the sheriff felt he deserved a break after interrogating the two Lobos members all afternoon. 

“You look satisfied; I take it the questioning went well?” Peter asked as he handed John a non-alcoholic beer. 

“So far they’ve sung like canaries,” Stiles’ father replied rather smugly. “Whatever Stiles painted on them made them almost eager to share … we’re not complaining. We’re getting exactly what we need from them for a huge sting operation. Not just here, but everywhere they’ve got pockets of their group stationed.” 

“You said they’re organized in groups,” Derek interjected. “You’ll need more of them to take them out all at once.” 

“That’s in part why I’m here,” John admitted. He took a sip of his beer and turned to his son. “Stiles, I know that this is pretty far out there, but we all know that only your magic mojo has made them talk their ugly heads off. I can’t have you in danger again, but maybe you can teach me how to do what you did today.” 

Stiles shared a wide-eyed look with first Isaac and then Peter. “Uhm, actually …” He stopped, a little stunned, and wrung his hands. 

“Yes?” the sheriff prompted. “What is it?” 

“It is something we’ve discussed just a couple of hours ago,” Peter explained. “Stiles proposed that we find out whether we might share his magic via the drawing of runes and other magical symbols. I’m not usually a great believer in cosmic signs, but if the both of you reach the same conclusion independent of each other, it might be more than a somewhat ambitious fancy.” 

“Well, I already know that my dad can handle the healing dice,” Stiles said, still somewhat overwhelmed. “So theoretically he should be able to activate runes. What if …” 

Derek sighed and assisted Stiles in the haphazard rummaging through his backpack by simply overturning it so everything fell out. 

Triumphant, Stiles picked up his sharpie. “A-ha! Now, what if the runes you all are gonna paint are really mine? I mean, they sort of are, since most of you aren’t the sort of magic user I am. I _think_. Who knows what we’ll uncover next, but anyway. What if the runes are really mine and you’re just painting them on my orders? That sounds stupid, but I’m an alpha, and your sort of emissary too, and I could, theoretically, give you all the standing order to use any rune that will help you achieve our mutual goals. Right?” 

“I’d feel compelled to listen to that order,” Isaac admitted after a long moment. “Not in the wolf way, but the pack way. It’s a little weird.” 

“Me, definitely,” Derek added. He grasped his empty wrist where his bracelet had sat before the skunk sap had made it impossible to wear. 

“And I’m definitely below Stiles in the hierarchy of magic users in our pack, so I’d feel comfortable taking orders of that nature,” Peter finished. He smiled slyly at the sheriff. “This day is just getting better and better on the history making front, wouldn’t you say, John?” 

“Why? What else are you up to?” the sheriff asked suspiciously. 

“I get Lou back!” Stiles crowed. He finished painting the runes his father would need to make his suspects talk and slid the piece of paper over to him. 

“Lou?” his father asked, perplexed. 

“Scott’s wolf spirit,” Stiles answered impatiently. “I told you that he went to Peter to help with the healing, but now I can have him back. Yay!” 

“I think I need to sit down for a moment …” 

Isaac assisted the sheriff into a chair and hovered for a few seconds to make sure he wouldn’t slide off in a faint. 

John waved him off, though not with a grateful pat to the arm. “Are you sure that you want that?” 

“Him,” Stiles interrupted him stubbornly. 

“Him, then,” his father amended. “It changed Scott a lot, and not for the better. I’d hate for that to happen to you, too.” 

“It won’t. First of all, I won’t really turn into a werewolf, I’ll just have a wolf spirit with me. Permanently, I hope. That’s not the same thing. And second of all, we have it all figured out. How to hide him when necessary, I mean. If I really can’t have him with me for one reason or another, he can easily stay with one of the wolves since we already know that it works.” 

“That’s …” For a moment it didn’t seem certain which adjective the sheriff would use, but then he settled on, “ _amazing_.” He grasped Stiles’ hand and squeezed it tightly. “I know that this is what you want, and I’m glad that you’re happy, but can I say that I’m thankful that you won’t actually _turn_?” 

“You can,” Stiles said softly. “I rather feel like I got the cake and get to eat it too right now. I wish nothing of the bad stuff had happened, but I’m happy that something so awesome came out of it. Lou is great, you’ll love him, dad.” 

“Then when will I get to see him?” his father asked. His voice was a little scratchy with emotion, but otherwise he seemed settled enough to rule out an imminent heart attack. 

“Right now, if everyone’s in agreement,” Peter said. After everyone’s nod, and after Isaac had started to record with his digicam, Peter took Stiles’ hand in his, turned it over - and pressed a kiss to the teen’s palm. 

Stiles sucked in a sharp breath, first at the unexpected feel of warm lips against his skin, and then at the inky blackness rapidly pooling in his palm and streaking out all over his arm. 

“Holy shit!” the sheriff exclaimed. “What is that?” 

“Mountain ash,” Stiles answered breathlessly. There was a tingle where Peter touched him, and it rapidly grew in intensity. Far too soon it reached a peak and all Stiles could do was flush and let out an indecent, “ _Oh_!” 

“Mmh, quite.” Peter slowly lowered Stiles’ hand and smiled sharply. “All done.” 

“I … wow. That was …” Stiles stared at Peter, uncertain whether he was hyped up on magic or arousal. It probably was the same thing, which wasn’t something he was ready to analyze anytime soon. 

“That sure was _something_ ,” his father said dryly. “You’re really toeing the line here, Hale.” 

“A man must have some entertainment in these trying times,” Peter replied wickedly. 

Stiles decided to ignore his mortification and instead reverently watched the spirit-driven mountain ash wander over his skin, curling and writhing like it was looking for the perfect place to settle. “Hey Lou, wanna say hello to my dad?” 

The writhing stopped at once and the blackness slowly amassed on Stiles’ outstretched right arm. First Stiles’ hand looked like it was encased in a glove, but then the mountain ash slowly morphed to form a vaguely distinguishable wolf head right there in the air, complete with snout and ears. 

“I … what.” Speechless, the sheriff stared at the spectacle. “How do you …” 

“You probably don’t remember clearly, but I managed to tear Lou from Scott by throwing mountain ash at him and wishing like mad that Scott wouldn’t be a werewolf anymore,” Stiles said. He smiled when a black tongue reached out to carefully lick his father’s fingers. “Well, and after the separation Lou went straight to me, mountain ash and all.” 

Carefully, John cupped the wolf head with his hand and petted it. “That was a good choice. Amazing, he feels almost solid.” A smile slowly spread over his face. “And he’s a good boy, isn’t he?” 

Lou sort of lurched forward and playfully nipped on the sheriff’s hand. 

“A very good boy,” Stiles laughed, joining his dad in petting his wolf spark. After a moment he sobered again. “He’ll never let me forget how much I hated Scott that night for what he tried to do to Peter. And what he did to _you_.” 

Lou receded as Stiles hunched up his shoulders and curled protectively around Stiles’ shoulders and neck. 

With a slight gesture, Peter motioned for Isaac to stop filming. “Some things should neither be forgiven, nor forgotten. It’s alright to carry grudges with you; they’ll protect you from making the same mistake twice.” 

“Hopefully.” Stiles looked his father in the eye. “I love Melissa, I do, but Scott no longer exists for me.” 

“He’ll spend a lot of time behind bars,” his father assured him. “And afterwards he’ll be forbidden from reaching out to you for life. He’s no longer your concern.” 

“It won’t hurt to monitor him regardless,” Peter said, his eyes glowing eerily red. “As far as I’m concerned, he’s our pack’s enemy number one.” 

“No complaints here,” Isaac growled to which Derek nodded his agreement. 

“Also, it’s bullshit that the same can’t go for you, just because you’re the sheriff,” Stiles added. Lou crept up even further, encroaching on his face. 

“The judge’s ruling is only relevant as long as I’m the sheriff,” his father replied, expression turning a little wary at Lou’s wandering. “That could change very quickly. As long as it is my job to serve and protect the people of Beacon Hills, and Scott is a citizen here, that includes him.” 

“Tell me you’re at least unhappy about it,” Isaac demanded stubbornly. “You shouldn’t have to serve someone who kidnapped you.” 

“Oh, I’m very unhappy about it,” John clarified. “And thankfully reality is a little more flexible than the judge’s ruling. Due to our history I’m not allowed to apprehend him without backup, I can’t interrogate him, and it’d be best if someone else handled all things concerning law and order altogether where Scott is concerned. We all would like to avoid some crafty lawyer getting Scott free because I’m _compromised_.” 

“But you have to be approachable as the highest ranking officer of the law in the county,” Derek said slowly. 

“It really is a technicality,” the sheriff repeated. “One I won’t allow Scott to exploit.” 

Stiles pointed a finger at his father, noting with grim satisfaction that Lou formed a claw at the tip for emphasis. “I won’t just ward all of our stuff, I’ll ward _you_ to hell and back, too, dad. Just so we’re clear.” 

“I’m not going to say no to that, kiddo,” John said, eyes wide at the sight of the claw. “Uhm, is that normal?” 

“I don’t know,” Peter answered calmly. “I’ve never seen the like. But if it works …” 

“Right. You’ll get him trained? I mean, that’s a potentially deadly weapon.” The sheriff paused, his mouth dropping open slightly when the claw grew even longer. “With a mind of its own, holy crap.” 

Isaac laughed at his horror. “We’ll help Stiles work it out. Lou’s not gonna hurt him, promise.” 

“It’s almost like having a symbiont,” Stiles said excitedly, turning his hand this way and that and wiggling his fingers to animate the wolf spirit to give him more claws. He lowered his voice and boomed, “We are Venom.” 

The ash on Stiles’ skin wriggled excitedly. 

Derek sighed. “You’re such a child.” 

“Is that supposed to wound me?” Stiles asked. “Because it _doesn’t_ , Sourwolf. In fact, I’ll need to find out how much mountain ash Lou can move around. Maybe I can really have a wolf suit! Wouldn’t that be absolutely awesome?” 

His father sagged back in his chair, ran a hand over his face, and desperately looked to Peter for help. 

“You’d be better served with roping Derek into trying to curb Stiles’ enthusiasm,” Peter said in answer to the unspoken question, though he was not without some compassion. “Me, I’d much rather find out what Stiles is capable of instead of trying to hold him back.” 

John groaned, and groaned even louder when Peter added, “Of course the same is true for Isaac and my nephew. I’m not playing favourites in that regard.” 

oOo

The next few days passed quickly, mainly because everything Stiles and Isaac had ordered for the warding endeavor had arrived and they were busy organizing the available workspace. It quickly became evident to Stiles that painting the stones had to be a truly communal experience, and so he sent Derek to pick up a long garden table with two matching benches for sitting. That way, everyone could sit and work together, pooling that elusive something everyone in the pack had to offer to make their ward stones truly effective. 

“It’s a good thing Peter thought to buy a freaking warehouse,” Isaac said as he and Derek carried the table to the middle of the huge main space and placed it there under Stiles' instruction. “We could hire half a dozen people and still have room left over.” 

“Looks good,” Stiles praised them. “I’ll put some of the colours and rocks on there so we can work on it whenever we’ve got a minute.” 

“Peter stocked our fridge last night, too,” Isaac went on, “and we’ve got Netflix and Prime on our TV.” 

“It’s a pretty sweet deal,” Stiles grinned. He grabbed Derek around the shoulders and dragged him down onto the bench with him. “Since Derek carried all the heavy stuff, I vote that he gets to choose lunch today _and_ he can decide on the first base colour.” 

“What an honour,” Derek drawled. He reached over and picked out a vibrant reddish purple. “That one.” 

“Excellent choice,” Stiles said, not at all perturbed. “Let’s say we exchange base colours every twenty rocks?” 

“I’ll choose next.” Isaac plonked down across from Stiles and Derek and handed out palettes and brushes. “Here you go. Put on gloves and place the finished stones on the rack here. An hour should be more than enough time to get a good head start.” 

Stiles switched on the TV, an all-day news channel for now, and they got to work. It didn’t take half an hour to complete the twenty purple rocks and Isaac pounced to pick a truly obnoxious lime green. 

Lunch was pan-seared steak next to a summer salad with mango, pear, and berries as well as goat cheese, fried artichoke and walnuts, all expertly prepared by Derek. 

“Guys!” Isaac shouted after clicking around a little on his computer once they were finished eating. “We’ve got our first order!” 

“Wohooo!” Stiles cried. He flailed and nearly broke his neck in his scramble to get over to Isaac’s desk. “What do they want?” 

“Just one medium med pack card,” Isaac replied. “But it’s an order!” He held out his hand for a high-five, which Stiles excitedly provided. 

“Anyone we know?” Derek asked, leaning over Isaac’s other shoulder. 

“It’s a woman, at least that’s what her info says.” 

Stiles tilted his head thoughtfully. “Well, Peter was clear that we can’t rely on that info being true. But it’s our first order, so let’s throw in a complementary good luck card and maybe a personal thank-you note.” 

“Not written by you personally,” Derek said sternly. 

“Yeah, yeah, I remember,” Stiles huffed. “Isaac can do it, he’s the artist anyway.” 

“Did I just get promoted to being the face of the company?” Isaac asked drolly, not at all enthused about the idea. 

“Someone’s got to do it and Peter threatened to hang us _all_ up by the thumbs if I gave away more about me than I absolutely have to.” Stiles shrugged and bounced back into an upright position and grinned wickedly. “Besides, it’ll be fun to unleash your assholery on unsuspecting people. It’ll give them the right idea.” 

Clearly against his will, Derek snorted out a laugh. “You’re a menace.” 

“Thank you, it’s a gift, but I also work hard at it,” Stiles confided smugly. 

oOo

That night, Stiles’ phone shrilled, violently yanking him out of a deep sleep. 

“The fuck?” Stiles mumbled blearily. “Shit.” He managed to grab the phone and accepted the call. “Peter? Did you rescue someone else from domestic violence?” 

Peter’s voice was quiet and clipped as he said, “Don’t leave the house for any reason. I’ll call again, be on your guard.” 

He immediately hung up afterwards. 

Stiles dumbly stared at the phone, only to nearly fall out of bed in a mad dash to his laptop, where he pulled up the camera feeds of their security system. Rewinding the recording to the time his father had come home, Stiles let it run forward at an accelerated speed. 

He nearly crushed his keyboard to stop the speed run when suddenly a slender figure appeared in the diffuse streetlight and stopped right in front of their house. Despite the camera’s high resolution it was hard to tell much about the person, only that it very probably was a slim woman. 

Stiles watched as she watched the house for several minutes. At one point she raised a hand, almost like she wanted to touch something. 

“Fuck,” Stiles cursed, feeling a chill race down his back. He grabbed his phone and called Isaac. 

“So someone _was_ at your house,” Isaac greeted him grimly. 

“You bet there was. A woman, she acted like she was feeling up a wall or something.” Stiles watched said woman lower her arm again and walk away without a care in the world. “She stayed for five minutes, max.” 

“Then she wasn't a werewolf, your wards would've provoked a visible reaction. It did with all of us when you first installed them,” Isaac replied. “It’s probably a magic user.” 

“What? Why? What’s she looking for? For that matter, what even happened?” Stiles asked. “Peter’s call scared me shitless.” 

“I sincerely hope not.” Isaac exhaled sharply. “Around ten minutes ago, several security systems right around us went off at the same time, both in cars and buildings. We investigated first via our security cameras and, when the street came up empty, we went outside. Several someones painted some ugly-ass symbol onto a couple of cars, on the street, and onto the facade of the house across. The neighbours are fucking not amused.” 

“Show me a picture,” Stiles demanded. A second later the picture arrived in his and Isaac’s messenger feed. “Wow, it _is_ ugly. What does it mean?” 

“Peter growled something about the alpha pack before sending me back inside. He took Derek to catch scents and tracks, if possible, but it seems like they have a magic user on their side because so far there hasn’t been anything for them to find.” 

Stiles muttered a curse. “What about the recordings of your cameras?” 

“Five people in black, likely leather. They wore motorcycle helmets to obscure their faces, maybe to disguise the fact that a magic user assisted them. It might work for the mundanes, but they have to know that we’d know better. How else could they have come so close without waking Derek or Peter?” 

“Yeah, I agree.” Stiles spun away from the computer and stared at his eerily blank walls. Ever since bringing most of his magic stuff over to the workshop, it felt strangely peaceful at home. Like he’d taken the majority of his almost manic energy over there as well. It made for more restful sleep, but it was still strange. “My dad will flip.” 

“As he should. The way Peter reacted, that alpha pack can’t be good news,” Isaac replied. “It was on our agenda anyway, but we’ll really have to speed up the project ‘Warding Hale Land To Hell And Back’ now. They might already be inside our territory, but that doesn’t mean we have to make their stay comfortable.” 

Stiles narrowed his eyes, feeling a completely foreign sense of fury at the violation of their borders. The explanation for this followed promptly as Lou manifested in a picture of a growling wolf with raised hackles on his left arm. 

“You bet we will,” Stiles said, carefully caressing the restless spirit in an attempt to soothe him. “I’ll call Erica and Boyd in the morning and rope them into helping with the ward stones. Plus, and you won’t like it, we should talk about bringing Jackson and Lydia up to speed. I need to do it anyway, and we could really use their help. If Lydia’s a banshee, that means she’s got magic, right? Because right now we can definitely do with more magic.” 

There was a long pause. When Isaac finally answered, he sounded both resigned and weirdly excited. “You might be right, the thousand attached problems notwithstanding. Wow. Peter’s gonna give you _so much_ shit over this.” 

"Why me?" Stiles whined.

Bone dry, Isaac retorted, "Because _I_ sure as fuck am not gonna tell him."

**End of chapter 50**


	51. Chapter 51

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much to tell, other than that my city's quickly becoming a hot spot for the corona virus, which is all sorts of not good. *sigh*
> 
> Stay safe, please, don't listen to certain orange people and their minions.

**Chapter 51**

“So, an alpha pack,” Stiles’ father said mildly over breakfast. 

The silence in the Stilinski kitchen was oppressive. Not even their obvious appetite could bring the tired werewolves to eat their platefuls of scrambled eggs and hash browns with any sort of enthusiasm. 

The sheriff went on, “I assume that it is a pack made up of alphas, which seems to be bad news, going by your cheery disposition.” 

“In past times, the alpha pack was an instrument of The Council to evaluate problematic shifts of power in shifter packs and, if necessary, to bring order to the chaos. They still use it to that effect today,” Peter explained. “This alpha pack, however, is not Council-sanctioned, as they’ve neither approached us in the official manner, nor given us a detailed list of their grievances against us.” 

“What is the official manner?” Stiles asked impatiently. While it was still early, he felt that the day was already getting away from them. 

“A handwritten letter with the official seal of the alpha pack and the signatures of the known alphas,” Peter replied. “The seal’s been in use for centuries, children in the werewolf community the world over grow up knowing what it looks like. This pack could’ve forged it reasonably well, they could’ve sent an official looking letter to state their intent to visit and observe and I’d probably have let them.” 

“But they didn’t,” Derek growled. He looked deeply unhappy. 

“No, they didn’t go to that trouble.” Peter looked at all of them, face stony. “They came marching into town, apparently convinced that we won’t contact The Council to deal with them since we just signed the agreement with the Argents to avoid exactly that.” 

“But that doesn’t make any sense,” Stiles said. “It’s not the same thing, is it? They’re imposters, reporting them to The Council to get rid of them has nothing at all to do with our pack.” 

Isaac nodded with agreement. 

“Unfortunately The Council isn’t as clear cut about such issues as the mundanes can be. While this alpha pack is not sanctioned by them and would suffer punishment were we to complain, they’d take a long, hard look at what has tempted them to move in on us.” Peter sighed at Stiles’ rebellious scowl. “It is deeply unfair, we all know that, but it is what it is. Out of necessity, our community believes in eradicating the root cause of a problem so it won’t spread. This has protected us from discovery far too many times, you see. That’s why they’ll use such invasive magic to determine the guilt and innocence in a feud, and why they’d probably kill the alpha pack for their presumption, but also judge us for any wrongdoings that eventually brought us here.” 

The sheriff’s eyebrows rose higher the more Peter explained. “If that’s how you deal with problems, how has your community not completely died out yet? The way I see it you either get yourselves killed in feuds, or you get killed by your government.” 

Peter smiled, showing not just a hint of fang. “We’ve learned to work with what laws we have quite well. We were given _options_ in our laws centuries ago, you see, and as a pack we will evaluate those options together to choose the best path.” 

“I say let’s get rid of that alpha pack permanently,” Isaac said. He shrugged at John’s incredulous look. “What? They vandalized three cars because they couldn’t do it to Peter and Derek’s. They’ll try to destroy more, or try to pick us off one by one, if we don’t act fast.” 

“Isaac is right,” Peter murmured. “They’re renegades, either after the Hale territory, or after a new member. Both scenarios are equally bad for us because we wouldn’t survive in either.” 

“You might,” Derek said quietly. 

“No, I wouldn’t,” Peter returned steadily. “I might’ve made a lot of mistakes, but I’d never betray my pack that way.” 

“Well, I might survive long enough to kill them all in their sleep,” Stiles interjected, “but yeah. Sentiment returned, dude.” 

“Let’s say, hypothetically, that I wouldn’t have a problem with you _dealing permanently_ with those people,” Stiles’ father said. “What would that mean for _my_ people?” 

Peter picked up his tea cup and contemplated the contents for a moment. “I can’t guarantee a clean vanishing act. Not at all, if I'm completely honest. But I’ll endeavor to get rid of the threat as quickly as possible.” 

“You’d need everyone's help with that,” the sheriff added. “Making them, us, essentially an accessory to murder.” 

“Yes, unfortunately.” 

“If it helps,” Stiles said, drawing his father’s attention from Peter to himself, “I’m not especially worried about that. Those guys seem to be really bad news, and as soon as they lay a claw on someone, anyone, their time’s up as far as I’m concerned.” 

“What he said,” Isaac chimed in. 

For almost a minute, both Stilinskis stared at each other, neither giving an inch. 

At last, the sheriff conceded, “I want any and all information on those people you can give me, Hale. Police files as well as rumours out of your community, whatever, and I want them _now_. I also want your promise that you’ll try to run them off first, if you can, and if you can’t, make it look like an accident or an animal attack if at all possible.” 

“As I said, it might not be possible, but I’ll do my best,” Peter agreed. “In the meantime I’ll employ a tracing spell to find the alpha pack and try to teach Stiles how to pick up the magical signature of an invading magic user and follow it to their location.” 

“She might have thought of that,” Derek said. 

“Yes, she might, but maybe she’s underestimating Stiles. We’ll just have to see what happens.” Peter picked up a breakfast roll and split it with a precise cut of his knife. “Isaac, Derek, I’d recommend getting your fill now because we’ll have to check the whole perimeter today. That's a lot of ground to cover.” 

“And I hope that Erica and Boyd actually want to come over today,” Stiles said. “We need at least another two hundred ward stones to ward your territory in the preserve, and that’s an optimistic guess after looking at your map.” 

“I hope so, too,” the sheriff said. He smiled tightly at his son. “If I had any doubt about your abilities, you’ve put them to rest by warding the cars. I saw the security feed; those guys really put their back into trying to destroy them. It’s a relief to know that Stiles has done the same to all of our cars as well.” 

“Get me into the station’s car park sometime this week and I’ll ward the rest of them.” Stiles snagged the bottom half of peter’s roll from his plate but handed him the strawberry jam, freshly made by Marsha, in exchange. “And I know you don’t like thinking about it, but it’s high time I had my little presentation for Jackson, Lydia, and Melissa. I’d also like to include Erica and Boyd. It only stands to reason that those alpha creeps might go after them to get to us and they deserve to at least know what they’re getting into.” 

“You’re right, I do not like it,” Peter said. He pushed the butter dish over to Stiles. “However, I can admit that their swift inclusion is far more important than my _feelings_ on the matter.” 

Next to him, Isaac only badly suppressed a grin at Peter’s obvious disgruntlement. 

“Additionally, I don’t think it’d be a good idea to inform all of them at the same time. Erica and Boyd should get preferential treatment as your friends, and the Failure’s mother should know as little as possible about our pack structure or Stiles’ abilities, or even the sheriff’s inclusion in the goings on.” 

“Yeah, I’m good with that. I could start telling Erica and Boyd a little today,” Stiles said. “Melissa should get the abridged version anyways, since Scott’s no longer a werewolf. She just needs context, not the full Monty. And if I’m able to make taking Lou from him seem like a good thing, that’s even better.” 

“With his asthma rearing its ugly head?” his father asked skeptically. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she offered you money to give Lou back to him, mental issues be damned.” 

“Maybe, but that’s not my problem.” Stiles shrugged when the sheriff raised his eyebrows. “It really isn’t. Scott got his heart’s desire, it’s not my fault if he doesn’t like it as much as he thought he would. Melissa shedding a few tears won’t change my mind.” 

“Have I told you lately that I _adore_ you?” Peter asked, visibly delighted. 

“Too damn often,” Stiles’ father grunted, finally reaching for his coffee and gulping down half of it in one big swallow. 

Stiles positively glowed at the compliment. 

oOo

Erica was so on board with the plan to come visit Stiles in his Bat Cave that she made Stiles pick her and Boyd up, despite the fact that Boyd hadn’t voiced an opinion, and that it wasn’t even half past eight yet. 

“I’m so glad you’re making time for me,” Stiles told them as they left Boyd’s house behind. 

“Erica decided that we should,” Boyd replied, a little snarky. “What do you need us for at this ungodly hour?” 

“It’s almost nine now, don’t be a drama queen.” Erica poked him, only to giggle when Boyd caught her hand and kissed the palm. “Stiles said he’d feed us.” 

“It’s sort of a big art project,” Stiles said. “I better show you instead of telling you right now, because it’s a bit ...” 

“Weird?” Boyd raised an eyebrow. 

Stiles snapped his fingers and drummed them on the steering wheel. “That, yeah.” 

“I like weird,” Erica declared, grinning. “Honestly, I can’t wait to find out what it’s all about. You might not wanna tell us, but can I guess?” 

“Guess away, Catwoman,” Stiles answered, catching her eye in the rearview mirror and winking. “Amaze me.” 

Ten hilarious minutes later Erica still hadn’t guessed right, which had only ramped up her excitement. Pleased at having entertained her so well until now, Stiles led them up to Peter’s apartment to dish up the promised breakfast. 

“This place is _amazing_ ,” Erica gushed after her first good look around. “I mean, it looked great through a camera, but holy shit, this apartment is huge. Your man’s _loaded_ , Stiles! Maybe you should forget those pesky underage laws for a minute and tap that.” 

Boyd sighed. “Didn’t we agree not to make it hard on him?” 

“We did, but seriously, Peter’s hot _and_ rich, and he must really like Stiles to give him a key and everything,” Erica argued. She turned around again, staring at everything. “ _Wow_.” 

“Do you want coffee while I make the food?” Stiles asked. 

His guests did, but they also wanted to help which really was just an excuse to go snooping through the fridge and the cupboards. Erica was positively gleeful about all the low carb foods Peter had stocked and almost out-ate Boyd after Stiles had dished up the heavily herbed scrambled eggs, fresh strawberries, and some weird keto bread that tasted amazing fresh out of the toaster. 

“Did Peter know I was coming?” Erica asked, blissfully biting into her thickly buttered toast. “Because this is perfect.” 

“He’s a health nut anyway, but when he learned about your condition he stocked up on things you can eat,” Stiles said. “I hope you don’t think it’s weird.” 

“It’s a little weird,” Erica said with a shrug, “but mostly it’s damn thoughtful. Since he’s definitely not trying to be inappropriate, I won’t lose any sleep over it. Pass me the veggies?” 

Once they’d finished eating and had cleaned up the kitchen, Stiles led his friends into the sun-flooded workshop. 

Erica and Boyd’s mouths dropped open and they stared at the many empty shelves, the large garden table and benches smack in the middle of the space, and the many workstations situated underneath the huge windows. After that came a thorough appreciation of the fully equipped kitchen and the snacks Isaac had stuffed into the fridge, and of course the frankly ridiculously over the top entertainment center. 

“What _is_ this?” Boyd asked, looking as flabbergasted as Stiles had ever seen him. “What are you doing in here?” 

“Well, Isaac’s seriously into art, so he set up his stuff here,” Stiles began, “and I’ve got some projects going on I’d better not do at home, so I moved in here as well. They both don’t mind, obviously.” He gestured at the table where the racks of colourful rocks were waiting to be adorned further. “This is what I’m into right now, rock painting.” 

“Rock painting?” Erica echoed, nonplussed. “What for?” 

Stiles picked a purple rock up and tossed it between his hands. “In Germany they’re called Wanderstein, meaning that the painted rocks will be returned to the wild once people are done painting them, and wanderers can find and enjoy them, even take them someplace else. I need to make a couple hundred of them, at least, and it’d be great if you would help.” 

“Can I ask why you need so many?” Boyd stepped up to the table and picked up a bottle of acrylic colour. “And why so soon?” 

Knowing that he couldn’t lie to them forever, and really not wanting to in any case, Stiles offered, “I wanna make a sort of stone chain for Beacon Hills.” 

“Like border stones?” Boyd asked dubiously. 

“Yeah! Like that. But for that I need a lot of stones and I need them quickly.” 

“You have all summer,” Erica returned, eyeing Stiles with something akin to worry. “What’s the rush?” 

“You’ve met me, right?” Stiles asked, fidgeting with a brush. “And also, maybe I’m gonna imagine that this border will keep more creeps out. I mean, it's sorta necessary after the shitshow with the Argents and Scott, isn't it?” 

“Like magic wards in a video game?” Erica’s little frown lifted at Stiles’ nod and turned into a grin. “In that case, count me in. It sounds like it’d be fun!” 

“I’m not sure I buy this, but whatever.” Boyd sat at the table. “Where do we start?” 

Beyond grateful that he wasn’t going to be questioned further for now, Stiles shoved a pile of rocks towards his friends, let them choose a base colour each, and asked them to coat as many rocks as possible. Himself, he chose one of the already dry lime green stones and got to painting it with blue and white spirals. The next rock was purple and got treated to an orange butterfly shape, and the one after that to black zebra stripes. 

Erica lasted half an hour before she complained of boredom. Stiles, who’d counted on her breaking first, graciously invited her to use the acrylic pens and took over for her. Thankfully her cup of pastel blue was nearly empty so Stiles could choose another colour for himself once he was done with it. 

“You should do some artsy stuff, too, Boyd,” Stiles commented at the full hour mark. 

Boyd briefly looked up from the rock he was covering in glittering bronze. “I’ll leave that to you and Erica. I actually like this.” 

“You do?” Stiles dropped another dark yellow stone onto the rack to dry. “Then you’ve got more patience than I do.” 

Shrugging, Boyd replied, “Dunno if it is about patience. I just like providing a foundation.” He paused. “Literally.” 

Stiles smiled crookedly at him. “I sort of got that about you, actually. I can’t say I don’t appreciate it because man, this is lame.” 

“It needs to be done, apparently.” Boyd pointed at Erica. “Maybe you should stop her from painting so many penises on your rocks.” 

“She does seem to be a bit preoccupied with them,” Stiles leered. “Is there something you wanna tell me?” 

Incredibly, Boyd flushed, faltering for a moment in his painting. 

“Not yet,” Erica cackled. She showed off her newest artwork, a humongous silver penis on one of the purple rocks. “But I’m working on it. _Tirelessly_.” 

“Erica,” Boyd begged. 

“Sorry, boo.” She smiled warmly at him. “I’m just having fun. Even if it’s true.” 

Stiles laughed out loud and then snapped a picture of their little collection of weener rocks to amuse the poor sods on patrol. 

The morning passed quickly, even with a long break for drinks and snacks and stretching out their legs. Inevitably, Erica discovered the shelf with the finished products for the shop, and naturally she and Boyd were having questions. While it had been more or less planned and expected, it was still nerve-wracking. 

“Okay, this probably sounds super weird but …” Stiles raised his shoulders uncomfortably, “but this is Isaac’s and my thing. We design … magic stuff. Like those cards.” 

“Magic stuff,” Boyd repeated with raised eyebrows. 

“Yeah, like, for healing, mostly. We haven’t gotten very far with developing products yet, but we’re working on it. The stuff you're seeing there, we're selling it on Etsy. Our shop went live last weekend.” Stiles watched as Erica studied the turquoise healing card she’d plucked from its carton. “This one’s for light healing, nothing huge.” 

“You talk like it actually works,” Erica said, raising her eyes to Stiles and studying him like she wanted to assess his mental health. 

For a moment, the words got stuck in Stiles’ throat. It was now or never; he could either tell them the truth about himself, or he could laugh it off as some kind of art project he was helping Isaac with. 

He did not laugh it off. This was his chance to gently make Boyd and Erica aware of the supernatural ... possibly even the best chance he’d ever get. 

“I do, because it does,” he managed to say, surprised at how calm he actually sounded. 

Erica paused, staring like she was waiting for the punch line. 

“It does work,” Stiles repeated. He wiggled his fingers. “Magician here.” 

“No way,” Erica burst out. 

“Yes way,” Stiles countered, a slow grin taking over his mouth unbidden. 

Boyd put an arm around Erica’s shoulders, eyes fixed on Stiles. “Are you serious.” 

“Well, I sure as hell am not trying to have you on,” Stiles replied, completely torn between trying not to feel disappointed, and, weirdly, trying not to laugh. “I didn’t know how to tell you, but I can show you. At least a little bit.” 

“You can show us a magic trick.” Erica’s eyes travelled all over Stiles’ face and down to his hands before finding and meeting Boyd’s. “I don’t think he’s trying to bullshit us. He’s too calm.” 

“Yeah,” Boyd agreed. “I don’t wanna call you a liar, but it better be good, Stiles.” 

“Keep the card,” Stiles instructed Erica. “Let’s go back to the table, we have more room there, and better light.” 

They settled back at a clear section of the ward stone table, Stiles’ friends tense, almost rigid, with expectation. 

“Relax, I’m not gonna pull a bunny out of a hat,” Stiles teased them. “Instead I’ve got this …” He pulled a baggie of mountain ash from his pant pocket, opened it - and willed the dark powder to creep up his hand like a glove. Amidst Erica’s gasp he explained, “That’s mountain ash. I can manipulate it however I like.” 

Boyd’s jaw actually dropped as he watched the dark ash collect in Stiles’ palm, only to be kneaded like some sort of play dough. Right afterwards it trickled through Stiles’ fingers like the dry powder it actually was. 

“How are you doing that?” Erica asked in a hushed voice. “Can I touch it?” 

“Be my guest,” Stiles invited. “You too, Boyd.” 

Eagerly, Erica poked and prodded at the dark dust, managing to get a few pinches into her palm only to lose half of it when she attempted to knead it like Stiles had done. “No way! It just doesn’t work that way for me! Boyd!” 

“I told you it was magic,” Stiles repeated with a grin. He called the ash towards him again but took Erica’s hand. “Let’s play a little, okay?” 

All three watched the ash wander from Stiles fingers to Erica’s, wrapping snugly around them like lacy gloves and then wandering off towards her forearm. 

“I’m seeing this, but I’m having trouble believing,” Boyd confessed. He allowed Stiles to take his hand so the ash could wander over him, too. “You’re _magic_.” 

“I’m magic,” Stiles agreed. “In the interest of full disclosure … full _er_ disclosure, oh my god, don’t look at me like that ... your friendship bracelets are also a bit magic. For your protection and some luck and stuff.” 

“I knew it,” Erica cried. She touched it possessively. “It’s not ever gonna come off.” 

“Probably not, since I made it a bit sturdier for you.” Stiles grinned. “Anyway, you’re taking this remarkably well, so whew! Thanks, you guys.” 

“I reserve the right to freak out about it later,” Boyd said dryly. Even without Stiles’ touch, the ash was still writhing on his skin. “Can you take this away from me, please? It’s weirding me out.” 

“Oh, yeah, of course. C’mere, ash.” 

Obediently, the dark, slightly glittery dust rushed off Boyd’s fingertip and flowed onto Stiles’ hand, up his arm, and vanished underneath his T-shirt. 

“What … where is it?” Erica shook her head. “Do I want to know?” 

“You probably do, and I’ll tell you, just not right now.” Stiles pulled out his phone. “What’re your plans for the weekend? You got a date planned on Saturday?” 

“Not yet,” Boyd said slowly. “There’s more to tell?” 

“Loads more, I don’t even know how to not make it sound ominous.” Stiles grimaced. “Worse, Lydia and Jackson will be there. They’re involved and need to know, too.” 

Erica shook her head. “You know, it must actually be real and not a crazy dream if you’re bringing more people into this. People you don't really like, I should say.” 

Snorting, Stiles said, “I wish it was a mere delusion, but no. Unfortu-fucking-nately not. I fully expect you to shout at me, maybe even throw stuff, just … don’t stop talking to me afterwards, okay? And please don’t go and tell other people because this is not just my secret to tell. Can I trust you to do that?” 

“Definitely until Saturday,” Erica promised. “Although I’d love to tell my parents about your magic ash! They’d so try to recruit you for their business. Like, can you suck all the dirt out of a room? Have you _tried_?” 

Stiles had not tried this particular feat, but he promised her that they could find out after the meeting on Saturday - if she still wanted to hang out then. 

It was humbling how Boyd’s long look of snotty derision said even more than a dozen of Erica’s heartfelt denials. 

**End of chapter 51**


	52. Chapter 52

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter done, and hopefully not too badly. I tried to make the presentation as interesting as I could without belabouring points the reader already knows ... too much. Hopefully it's still entertaining, but if not don't hesitate to tell me. Writing fanfiction isn't just about getting a story out, but also about stretching my wings as a writer. It might be hit and miss sometimes, so sorry if (when) I miss occasionally.
> 
> EDIT: Oh. My God. Okay, I made a huge (plot) mistake in this chapter which I've fixed now. It's about Jackson's reaction to the Peter reveal because in #27 Jackson already knew who Peter was, and even that his dad was working for him. Sorry if that was jarring, subconsciously or otherwise.

**Chapter 52**

“So this is it?” Jackson asked, looking down his nose at Stiles’ made-up living room. “We couldn’t have met somewhere nicer, with better snacks?” 

“No,” Stiles sniped back. “Until you’ve proven not to be a total douche-” 

“Unlike the regular douche you’re being right now,” Isaac interjected with a smirk. He was leaning against the door jamb, loose and fit looking enough to make Jackson eye him warily every few seconds and enjoying it immensely. 

“-you won’t be allowed anywhere ‘nice’, and also, if meeting lowly me is beneath you, maybe you’d be better off not knowing anything at all, because I’m _neck deep_ in it,” Stiles finished. “Plus, those snacks are Erica-friendly because she can’t have sugar. If you don’t like ‘em, don’t eat ‘em. It’s really simple.” 

“I can’t speak for Jackson, but I don’t mind,” Lydia declared and demonstratively sat down on the couch. She wore make-up, but her hair was up in a messy bun and her clothes were loose and comfy. “Your lemonade looks good, Stiles. May I please have a glass?” 

“Of course,” Stiles replied and graciously poured her some. If she was pretending that nothing had happened between them, he was only too happy to follow along. She was still beautiful to him - she probably always would be - but it was a detached awareness, not something that grabbed his insides and twisted them around mercilessly until he was little more than a bumbling idiot in her presence. “Help yourself to anything else you like.” 

The doorbell rang, Isaac telling them that Erica and Boyd had arrived, and leaving to let them into the house. 

“Reyes and Boyd, really?” Jackson asked, grudgingly accepting a bottle of bionade from Stiles. “You’re friendly, but I thought it’s all so hush-hush?” 

“It is, but as you said, they’re Isaac and my friends and earned it.” Stiles inclined his head towards Derek, who was finishing checking the beamer Stiles had begged off Peter. “Unlike you, dude. Mostly.” 

“What did you expect? I ditched Danny and a party at the Jungle for this,” Jackson sniped. 

“I feel so honoured.” Stiles rolled his eyes briefly. “Derek will make sure you behave, so no mouthing off. If you don’t interrupt too often you can still make the party.” 

Jackson narrowed his eyes at Derek, quite obviously calculating his chances of taking him on and winning if he began a tussle with Stiles. Deciding that the odds weren’t in his favour, he crossed his arms in front of his chest and scowled sulkily. 

“Hey Stiles!” Erica greeted, engulfing Stiles in a big hug. A little less friendly she then greeted the other teens. “There won’t be more people coming? Not even your dad?” 

“Nah, it’s just us tonight. My dad’s at work, trying to catch more of those Locust Wolf guys while the going’s good. Anyway, depending on how well everyone’s taking it, we’ll have more meetings, but let’s get through this one first.” Stiles exchanged a firm hand clasp with Boyd, grateful for his staunch presence. “Have a seat, I’ll get you drinks, and when everyone’s ready, we’ll get started.” 

Erica and Boyd unceremoniously sat next to Lydia on the couch while Isaac chose the armchair, which left no room for Derek and Jackson. And while Jackson was a little huffy for a minute before Lydia allowed him to serve as her pillow, Derek retreated from the room to put the finishing touches on their dinner. 

Stiles licked his bottom lip, now getting a little nervous. “Okay guys, the windows are all covered, we have our drinks and something to stress-munch on … I guess this is it.” He pressed a button on his remote and the first page of his Powerpoint presentation appeared on the empty wall above the TV. “Welcome to ‘Beacon Hills, Hellmouth’, your guided tour of supernatural shenanigans.” 

“Are you fucking serious,” Jackson demanded after taking in the comic style bookcover design. 

“You’ll find out,” Stiles replied, clicking for the next page. “It all started this year in January, when I decided to drag Scott into the woods to look for half of a dead body …” 

oOo

“Oh my god, you’re a _werewolf_ , Isaac!” Erica shrieked, nearly bursting everyone’s eardrums. She jumped up and accosted the shifted teen for a tight hug. “You’re amazing! Boyd, look! He’s got _claws_! And sideburns!” 

“Derek is one, too, but he asks to excuse him from the show and tell because he doesn’t want to be stared at like he were a zoo exhibit,” Stiles grinned. Isaac’s long-suffering eye roll at Erica’s enthusiasm while transformed was the stuff of _legends_. 

“Not a big surprise, after he took out those gang members,” Boyd said with a nod. He turned to Isaac. “Can I have your video of his throw?” 

Isaac agreed, showing a mouthful of sharp fangs as he grinned, and Stiles gave kudos to Jackson for looking supremely calm and collected while Lydia was having a minor freak-out. Of course he’d known about werewolves in a more or less abstract manner for almost as long as Stiles had, but it was still different seeing one in the flesh. 

...

“I already knew that Peter Hale was the alpha, but not that he'd killed so many people!"

"Do you mean more people? Because that's fair," Isaac said, looking on in fascination as Jackson worked himself up into a fit.

"Fuck off, Lahey, yes, _more_ people!” Jackson shouted, all coolness blown away. “My dad’s working for him and has no idea! Hell, Hale was over for dinner last week! _At my house!_ What the _fuck_ , Stiles?” 

“Yes, Stiles, what the fuck,” Lydia echoed, blanching with fury. “How can you stand there, calm as you please, and just tell us that you joined his little cult when he nearly _murdered_ me!” 

“First of all, he nearly killed all of us at one point so you’re not anyone special,” Stiles retorted. _In fact, he did it so he’d have_ my _attention … I probably shouldn’t feel smug about that. Bad Stiles!_

“Except for me,” Isaac threw in unhelpfully and annoyingly smug. 

“Which wasn’t great for any of us,” Stiles continued, showing Isaac the finger even as he felt a little guilty for feeling so possessive of Peter’s attention, “but we got through it. Yay us, we’re badass survivors. Also, Jackson's dad isn't in any danger at all, just fyi. Really good lawyers are hard to come by.” 

“Do you think that’s funny, Stiles?” Lydia cried a little shrilly. “Because it wasn’t funny for me when he nearly ripped me apart! Why hasn’t your father arrested him? Or better yet, shot him dead!” 

“Peter was feral,” Stiles told her, good mood vanishing at once. Underneath his shirt, Lou was crawling restlessly over his skin, a faint growl echoing inside of Stiles’ mind at Lydia’s cold demand. “He was literally out of his mind through no fault of his own. That he hurt you was bad, no one’s gonna tell you it wasn’t, but he has changed since then. He’s _healed_ , and he wants to lead a healthy pack and protect his territory so there won’t be happening any _more_ supernatural bullshit. Just look at Isaac, Peter’s done great by him so far, and he wasn’t even playing with a full deck when he rescued Isaac from his dad.” 

“By the way, thanks for never stepping in, Whittemore,” Isaac drawled, staring with glowing eyes at the flushing Jackson. “It’s nice to know that after everything I went through my give-a-fuck still isn’t half as broken as yours.” 

Before Jackson, still red-faced and neary foaming at the mouth, could say anything, Erica rounded on him. “You knew that his dad abused him and never even called someone? Why the fuck not, you asshole? What’s wrong with you!” 

Even Lydia was staring at Jackson and her voice was crisp when she ordered, “Explain.” 

“I … I don’t know,” Jackson ground out after taking a moment to corral his fury. “It wasn’t my business. Besides, Mr. Lahey was _creepy_ , and I heard how he was with the guys in the swim team, okay. I wasn’t interested in getting half drowned like that Daehler dude.” 

“Next time you notice shit like that going on, you’re gonna call _me_ if you can’t bring yourself to call the police,” Stiles said with an air of finality that had Jackson nod jerkily, once. Satisfied, Stiles pulled up the next page of his presentation. “Good, then let’s move on. You all know Gerard Argent, deceased principal of our high school …” 

... 

“Well, I knew that something strange was going on with Allison after her mom began working at school,” Lydia told them all when Stiles was done with the Argent part of the revelation. “But I never knew that she was a hunter … that she _shot_ at people with the intent to kill.” She turned to Jackson and smacked his shoulder. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me about it? _Any_ of it?” 

“When was I supposed to do that? When you were comatose in the hospital? Or when you were completely spaced out after they finally let you go home?” Jackson countered, pissed off. “I wanted to _forget_ what I saw, Lydia, not discuss it to death!” 

“That’s true, Lydia,” Stiles said, deciding to throw Jackson a bone after the guy had promised to do better after his huge fuck-up with Isaac. “He even caught wind of Scott’s transformation and wanted it for himself, but backed off pronto after seeing what had happened to you.” 

“Can we know why the bite didn’t take?” Boyd asked into the charged silence. “I thought you said it either does, or it kills. But Lydia’s still here.” 

“We’ll get to that later,” Stiles promised, “if you can wait that long. Or even want to. I’ve talked for an hour already and you’ve all had some shocks.” 

“Doesn’t matter,” Boyd said. “I want to know everything.” 

“Me too,” Erica proclaimed. Instead of shocked she actually looked intrigued, almost gleeful, like she couldn’t believe that this was her life and loving it. 

“What about my privacy?” Lydia asked with a raised eyebrow. She didn’t truly sound upset so much as weary, but she was definitely judging Stiles for that promise. 

“Sweetheart, you just learned that the supernatural exists, and that I’m a werewolf. You’ll deal if you want to learn the whole of it,” Isaac retorted, earning himself a thumbs-up from Erica. 

“What he said. But it’s not all a huge pile of crap,” Stiles assured her. “Really.” 

“Prove it,” Lydia replied, eyes hard and shoulders tense. 

...

“Stilinski can do magic,” Jackson breathed, eyes wide and fixed on the mountain ash Stiles was manipulating in physics-defying ways. “ _How_?” 

“I just can,” Stiles answered with a little shrug. “But it’s awesome. Even better, Peter believes that Lydia will be able to do some of that as well.” 

Lydia, who was sitting right on the edge of her seat now, raised her eyebrows. “Is that so?” 

“Yep. That’s where your strange reaction to the werewolf bite comes in,” Stiles said. He clicked his remote yet again and pulled up the page of his presentation simply titled ‘The Banshee’. “The bite couldn’t turn you because you already carried the potential of awakening as _other_ in you. Instead of turning you into a werewolf, the bite instead forced you to come online, so to speak. Peter believes that you’re a banshee, a ‘wailing woman’.” 

“Wait, what?” Jackson turned to stare at his girlfriend. “A _banshee_?” 

Erica scooted a little closer to Lydia, staring. “What’s that? Some sort of demon? I gotta say that she doesn’t look like an ugly hellspawn.” 

“Banshees are omens of death,” Lydia whispered. Her face paled and she slumped a little against Jackson, who gruffly caught her weight. “Oh my god. My party … the guy who nearly drowned in the pool. Was that me warning of his imminent death?” Stricken, she looked up at Stiles. “I don’t remember clearly, but people told me that I screamed really loudly right by the pool instead of getting in and dragging him out.” 

“Peter thinks so,” Stiles said, compassionate in the face of her obvious distress. “The evidence seems sound, if you ask me, but of course you should do your own tests and stuff.” 

“I could help,” Erica offered, surprising the whole room. “What? I’m curious! I wanna know more about all of this!” 

Lydia bit her lip, dithering for a moment, but then she murmured, “I’d like that. Thank you.” 

“I’m in as well if you need me,” Boyd said, “but I have to ask: how can we do those tests? We don’t know anything about real live banshees.” 

“Right.” Stiles wiped his suddenly sweaty palms on his pant legs. “Uh … so this is the difficult part, okay. Hear me out, even if it’s difficult.” 

“Somehow I don’t like the sound of that,” Jackson grumbled. 

Stiles sighed. “None of you probably will, but I’m gonna say it anyway. Peter knows that he did you wrong, Lydia, and he wants to make amends as well as he can. He can’t turn you back into a human, obviously, but he’s willing and ready to support you with everything you’ll need to explore and master your new circumstances.” 

Lydia’s shocked face turned frosty. “Now he wants to make amends?” 

Stiles winced a little in sympathy. “Yes, absolutely. He’s responsible for your _emergence_ , so he’s responsible for your education. I told you, he takes that seriously. It’ll serve no one to have lingering resentment between us when we have to defend ourselves against a real enemy. Every bit of help is welcome, and that’s no joke.” 

“What enemy now?” Jackson demanded. “What more can be going on in this shitty town?” 

Boyd looked a little constipated as he said, “I’m with him on that, Stiles. If it’s not that loco wolf gang, we need to know.” 

“I wanted to spare you for a bit longer, but I can tell you if you really feel you have to know,” Stiles replied. At the four bitchy stares boring into him, he relented. “Fine, but on your head be it. If you’re having nightmares, don’t call me to whine about it.” 

…

“I can’t believe it,” Lydia hissed. “Wasn’t _one_ feral alpha enough? Now there’s a whole pack of them skulking around and trying to harass you and the werewolves?” 

Derek, who’d finally come out of the kitchen, looked calmly at her. “They aren’t feral, which is even worse. But yes, a pack of them has set its sight on Beacon Hills, and that’s where Peter comes in. It’s his job to protect us all from them. To that effect he’s training with Isaac and I, stocking up on weapons and other useful stuff, and throwing money at Stiles to advance his magical education.” 

“How can _magic_ help against them?” Lydia asked in clipped tones. “And how can I make it work for me as well?” 

“Right now I’m mainly using runes for protection,” Stiles explained. “We’re working on ward stones to place around Peter’s territory so invaders will have a fucking hard time crossing the border. It’s a lot of work though, so any help is very welcome.” 

“Why should we do that? Those alpha douchenozzles don’t know us yet, and I’d like to keep it that way. I don’t want anything to do with those crazy bastards,” Jackson snapped. “How often do I have to repeat myself?” 

“You’re shitty at art anyway,” Erica huffed. 

“Says the woman who paints dicks on our ward stones,” Boyd countered dryly, which made Jackson twitch in astonishment. 

Lydia, ignoring the byplay right next to her, pursed her lips, her eyes flinty. “I’ll help. But I want what Peter Hale promises. If he tries to get back on his word, I’ll skin him alive. And you’ll help me, Stiles.” 

“I’ll kick his ass, but no more than that,” Stiles answered. “I didn’t keep him alive just so _you_ can kill him. I’d say sorry, but I’m really very much not sorry that the pack comes first.” 

Eyes narrowing even further, Lydia studied him intently. “You’re _that_ invested in Hale? Interesting. How much haven’t you told us?” 

“A lot,” Stiles admitted without even a little bit of shame or regret. “You guys are gonna have to earn that privilege. Right now you could run and tell people what I told you, but if you do that, things with us aren’t ever gonna go further than what you have right now and it won’t hurt us that much. Mostly you’ll just come across as crazy, so I wouldn’t recommend it. It’s your choice whether you want to learn more and be involved, but if you’re in, you’re gonna have to play by some very important rules.” 

“Well, _I’m_ in,” Erica said, affronted. “Why are you lumping us in with that jock doofus and his banshee of a girlfriend?” 

“Low blow, babe,” Boyd admonished her. He raised his eyebrow at Stiles. “But I’m with her. I definitely want to know everything.” 

“That’s great, you guys,” Stiles said, relieved. “I just had to say it because all of this stuff is _real_. And it’s no picnic, most of the time.” 

“Hah, I noticed _that_ alright,” Erica sniped. 

Stiles nodded at her. “So you did. It’s worse than a few dumb human criminals, though. Because it is so dangerous there’ll be honest to god contracts if you decide to stick with us.” 

“Contracts,” Boyd echoed. 

“Yupp, more than one per person even, if we’re unlucky. Peter was a lawyer before Kate Argent ruined his family, he’ll insist on it.” 

“Do we sign those by ourselves, or do we need our parents?” Erica asked, her brash enthusiasm giving way to worry. 

“Well, I haven’t signed anything yet for me personally, but my dad knows and would probably be on board,” Stiles replied. “But Isaac signed for himself because his dad is an asshole and never again gets a say in what he does. So, whatever you want, I guess. But please don’t run and tell your folks everything right away, okay? We need to get through Scott’s trial first, I don’t wanna have to split my focus like that.” 

“What he really means is that he doesn’t want to hunt you down and spell you for silence,” Isaac said, a little menacingly. 

“Could he do that?” Jackson asked dubiously. 

“He could try,” Derek said flatly. “Knowing him, he’d make it work.” 

“Maybe even a little too well,” Isaac added, smirking. 

Jackson’s jaw worked as he swallowed a sarcastic remark. “Fine. Who’d believe me anyway. If Lydia wants to join your weird cult, she’s welcome to it, but leave me out of it.” 

“You sure? I thought you’d at least be curious,” Stiles asked. 

Jackson looked at everyone, taking his time to compose his answer. “Yeah, very sure. As I said, I’m not interested in taking on a bunch of jumped up monsters. It’s bad enough that my dad’s working for that Hale dude, but if they’re friends he won’t drop the case no matter what I say.” 

“That’s decent of you,” Stiles offered. “Thanks.” 

“Yeah, well, I hate McCall and can’t wait to see him behind bars. Also, I gotta believe that your alpha dude will protect my family if shit goes down, so I can sorta live with it for now. I think.” Jackson scowled at Stiles. “Anyway, is your presentation over yet? You promised damn good food and I’m hungry.” 

“It is, actually, although I’ll answer some more questions if you’ve got any.” Stiles turned off the beamer and stretched himself. “I hope tacos are okay; Derek makes the best fillings.” 

Eager to get out of the dark living room, Jackson practically threw Lydia off his lap and vanished in the direction of the kitchen. Isaac and Derek shadowed him, their shared little glance enough to convince Stiles that they wanted to menace him some more as punishment for not being a decent human being in the face of Stiles’ reveal. 

“That one’s a basket case,” Erica muttered as she steadied Lydia. “What’s his problem?” 

Stiles shrugged. “It’s not my business, but I know that he’s kinda working on it. Leave him alone, he’s just freaked out. God knows I was too when all this began.” 

“You’ve adapted rather well,” Lydia remarked, eyeing him critically, but not in that judgy way she had about her. “Not just mentally. The way you look now, and carry yourself. You’re different from before.” 

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Stiles said, a little uncomfortable under her unapologetic scrutiny. 

Lydia continued to look at him without blinking. “It is meant as one. That’s one reason why I’ll give Hale a chance. Whatever your faults may be, being a poor judge of character is not one of them … but I’m warning you. If he disappoints me, he _will_ feel my wrath.” 

“He won’t,” Stiles replied evenly. He stepped a little closer so he towered over the petite girl. From his arm, a black streak of mountain ash dripped onto the floor and formed a thin circle around Lydia. “Just another word of warning, and please believe that I’m serious: do not try to get back on your word. If you formally accept the offer, we’ll assume that you have forgiven Peter’s lapse of judgement. If you decide to harm him after that, we won’t react kindly.” 

Lydia’s mouth opened a little in shock. “You can’t be serious.” 

“I’m very serious.” Stiles looked back calmly. “Accept or not, that’s your choice, but don’t expect him to tolerate a betrayal. And don’t expect _me_ to stand idly by, or worse, support you. Because I _will_ help him survive. Always.” 

Lydia pressed her lips together and tried to step away, only to find that she couldn’t. “What the hell are you doing to me?” she demanded. 

“Just demonstrating how easy it would be for me to apprehend you,” Stiles said. With a little wave he opened the circle again. “Be honest with us and yourself, Lyds, that’s all we ask.” 

Lydia scorched him with her furious stare before stalking off silently, leaving Stiles with just Erica and Boyd. 

“Wow, I didn’t know Batman had claws,” Erica said, impressed. “Me-ow!” 

Raking a hand through his hair, Stiles deflated a little. “She needed to know just how serious I am. I chose Peter as my future alpha back then, and I’ll see it through. It’s not official yet, but one day it will be.” 

“Is he really a good guy now?” Erica asked, leaning against Boyd’s shoulder. “He killed a lot of people, two in front of you … I’m a bit worried now because he seemed so … not nice, but you get what I mean. Charming.” 

“He’s a creep, alright,” Stiles snorted, “but yeah, he’s loads better now, compared to January. Maybe he still has some more healing to do, and he definitely needs to see a shrink, but for a werewolf, he’s pretty alright, all things considered.” 

“Does he really care that much about his family?” Boyd asked. “I remember you telling us that he and Derek were having issues.” 

“Because of Laura, yeah.” Stiles stuffed his hands into his pant pockets and hunched his shoulders a little. “It’s complicated and maybe they’ll tell you sometime. They’re still family, though, and working on it, which is the point. They’re not giving up on each other.” 

“I wouldn’t be able to give up on my folks either,” Erica said. She was silent for a moment and then she suddenly exhaled sharply and boxed Stiles in the shoulder. “Man, _werewolves_!” 

“And _magic_ ,” Boyd added. He shook his head slightly. “Even after witnessing it I still can hardly believe it.” 

Grinning tentatively, Stiles said, “Welcome to the club, guys.” 

**End of chapter 52**


	53. Chapter 53

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing special to report, only that I'm slowing down a little as NaNo draws closer. I really want to join this year; unfortunately that'll mean a stop at least during November because I'm one of those writers who can't really work on two projects at once. Still, I'll do my best! :) 
> 
> Stay safe!

**Chapter 53**

For a couple of days, neither Boyd nor Erica texted very much, which was completely understandable but nonetheless nerve-wracking for Stiles. He tried to combat the feeling of utter helplessness by throwing himself into his work; on Sunday he cleaned up his room thoroughly and also got up all in Derek’s business as the werewolf made the Stilinski guest room somewhat into his own private sanctuary. Derek didn’t mind Stiles pawing at all his stuff but on Monday he did drag Stiles out for a long run before dinner to hopefully exhaust his nervous energy at least a little. 

When they were taking a break deep in the preserve, sitting on a fallen log and drinking water, Derek finally took a stab at the busy hornet nest masquerading as Stiles' brain. “You know that Erica and Boyd took your presentation really well. Far better than expected, to be honest, considering that you were brutally honest about Peter. So what are you worried about?” 

“They could change their mind after thinking it through,” Stiles replied, fidgeting miserably. “They could’ve been flashed by the reveal, because magic! And werewolves! But then, after a good night’s sleep it could’ve caught up with them that Peter _murdered_ people, and really fucking hurt Lydia. Worse, they’ll remember how I threatened Lydia to leave Peter, a now known murderer, alone, and avoid me for the rest of our lives.” 

“They will not,” Derek sighed. He curled a hand around Stiles’ nape and pulled the teen against his chest. “Don’t worry so much.” 

“They probably should avoid me, though,” Stiles fretted. He breathed in Derek’s clean scent and felt himself settle a little. “I don’t want to get them maimed or killed.” 

“That’s their decision.” Derek stroked Stiles’ hair with his other hand, his broad palm anchoring him some more. “But they don’t fear you, and they won’t hate you even after they’ve thought it over.” 

“How do you know,” Stiles asked, muffled. 

“I don’t _know_ , because unlike Peter I’m not going to stalk your friends, but I still think you should trust them. Just give them time to … reflect, and everything will be alright.” 

Stiles snuffled against Derek’s skin and tightened his grip around the man’s waist. It felt almost okay to let himself be seen as so insecure and worried. “Fine, I’ll try to stop worrying about them. But I do worry about Lydia … and Jackson.” 

Derek’s voice was a little rumbly when he said, “Why him? He doesn’t want to be involved so it is actually clever to absent himself.” 

“I know that, and it’s not like I want to have him around all the time, but I feel shitty for letting him run out when he’s so unsettled. Last time I didn’t let him drive, so, yeah. Fail on my part.” Stiles reluctantly detached himself and rubbed his face with his hands. “I need to make sure that he’s alright. I don’t wanna be the reason he’s having nightmares or shit like that. He did see Peter in the woods, after all, and knowing that he’s around his dad all the time must be tough.” 

“You’re far better a person than Jackson,” Derek told him. He heaved an aggrieved sigh. “But it’s your business how you want to deal with him.” 

Stiles grimaced. “Thanks, dude. We’re not gonna become best friends or anything, but we sort of dragged him into this mess and I don’t wanna be responsible for his regression to über asshole. Things were actually rather okay-ish after rescuing Peter that night.” 

“And you don’t want to give it up,” Derek said. “Of course you don’t.” 

“Well, him not slamming me into lockers or being a rude fucker sure helps with getting through school without significant trauma,” Stiles huffed. 

“He’s still a rude fucker most of the time,” Derek retorted dryly. 

“Okay, yeah, but still. We sort of do okay now and I don’t wanna go back to how it was before.” Stiles bit his lip. “It’s not dumb, is it?” 

“No, Stiles, it’s not dumb.” Derek stood and dragged Stiles with him. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t hate Jackson’s guts, so do what you have to do to clear your conscience.” 

Stiles eyed him warily. “You sure?” 

“Yes, I’m sure,” Derek replied with an eye roll and a little push. “Now run, or we’re going to be late for dinner.” 

oOo

On Tuesday morning, Stiles thought about texting Jackson and asking him to meet up somewhere, but he decided against it almost immediately. Drama queen that he was, Jackson responded better to being surprised sometimes instead of being given options. 

And so, knowing full well that it was sort of shitty to corner Jackson in his own home, Stiles drove his jeep over to Jackson’s house, let Derek out so he could investigate the neighbourhood, and knocked at the door. 

Jackson’s mother was the one to open and for a moment she was visibly nonplussed by Stiles’ appearance. “Good morning, Stiles. I wasn’t aware that you wanted to visit Jackson?” 

“No, it’s a spontaneous visit,” Stiles replied and offered her a posy of summer flowers. He then showed off a carton of baked goods from Marsha’s. “I apologize for the early hour, but I brought bribes.” 

Flattered and amused, Mrs. Whittemore smiled. “Oh, in that case come in. I’ll call Jackson down.” Her smile turned a little less brilliant. “I trust that you’re not here to start an argument. Jackson’s been a little out of sorts lately.” 

“Of course not, Mrs. Whittemore,” Stiles promised. “I just wanted to say hello.” 

“Well, that’s very kind of you. Come in, you can keep your shoes on. Jackson should be down any minute.” 

“Thank you.” 

Never having been invited before, Stiles shamelessly used the opportunity to look at Jackson’s home while his mom went upstairs. The ground floor was large and spacious, with floor length windows allowing a pleasant view at the medium-sized backyard. Unlike Stiles’ own it was neatly trimmed, with just a few flower beds and hedges providing some colour and structure. The rest of the space was grass and it was obviously used for crocket and badminton as the goals, bats, and battledores were littering the green. 

“Your home is very nice,” Stiles complimented Mrs. Whittemore when she was back. “Where can I put the pastries?” 

“I’ll get you a plate,” she replied. Together, they arranged the croissants and pastries. Suddenly she asked, “Is everything alright with Jackson?” 

Stiles started, the unpleasant feeling of dread crawling down his spine. “Uhm, why are you asking?” 

“Well, I told Jackson that you’re here and he reacted … unkindly. Told me he didn’t really want to see you so soon.” Mrs. Whittemore observed Stiles warily. 

“Er, yes, that’s sort of my fault,” Stiles admitted. “He came for a visit on Saturday and it was a little … intense. But he stayed for dinner, so it’s not like he stormed off in a snit or anything. I know that he wanted to go to some party with Danny.” 

“He didn’t go,” Mrs. Whittemore informed him, relaxing a little. “He came home around eleven and told us that he didn’t want to talk about it when we remarked on his mood.” 

“Well, I’m sorry about that,” Stiles said quietly. “But that’s actually why I’m here. I want to talk things out and stuff.” 

Soft sounds from the stairs drew both his and Mrs. Whittemore’s attention. 

“You could’ve called,” Jackson said, lips pressed into a tight line. 

“Jackson,” his mother admonished him gently. 

“I brought stuff from Marsha’s,” Stiles said, trying to look as harmless as possible. 

Jackson glared at him but then descended the rest of the way and brushed past Stiles a little too closely for comfort. “Fine. You can stay.” 

Mrs. Whittemore looked dubiously at them both. “If you’re sure, honey …” 

Jackson waved her off. “It’s fine, mom. Thanks.” 

“Well, then I’d better leave you to it, but I’ll keep an ear out for raised voices. Be good, Jackson. Stiles, I trust that you won’t start a fight in our house.” 

“I’ll do my very best, ma’am,” Stiles promised. 

Satisfied, Jackson’s mother left the open plan kitchen and vanished into an office. 

“You really could’ve called,” Jackson huffed once they were alone. “I don’t know what you’re trying to do here. I made myself clear enough to warrant threats of bodily harm from your freaky bodyguards.” 

“You did,” Stiles acknowledged. “You came to visit me a couple of times when I wasn’t doing so great, though. I just thought I’d return the favour. Plus, I wanted to apologize properly for the unpleasant news regarding Peter.” 

“Well, it’s not like you can do something about that,” Jackson muttered. He angrily buttered his croissant and heaped a spoonful of red currant jam on it. With a huge bite, he inhaled half of his croissant and chewed aggressively. 

“I know, but I’m still sorry. I know how much it sucks when your dad’s sort of in danger,” Stiles offered. He copied Jackson’s choice of breakfast because it looked insanely appetizing. “I meant it when I said that Peter won’t harm your dad.” 

“Hale said that he was thinking about telling him,” Jackson said. “Back in April, after McCall’s stunt.” 

“I know. He probably should, to be honest.” Stiles chewed his croissant and hummed with bliss. “Would you be okay with that?” 

“No.” Jackson prepared the other half of his croissant with butter and liver paté. “If it were my choice, he’d never know.” 

“I get that you’re worried because of the danger, but dude, he has that already because he’s a lawyer,” Stiles said carefully. “There are a lot of douchebags in prison because of him, and let me tell you, one doesn’t need a werewolf with a grudge to be in mortal danger. In fact, my dad being in the know made things so much better between us. I don’t have to lie to him anymore, and I can tell him when I’ve got problems. You could have that, too.” 

“I don’t need him like that when I’m not involved in your freaky shenanigans. Plus, my dad isn’t a great shot, even if he goes to the range every now and then,” Jackson muttered, face still drawn and a little flushed from anger. “All it’d do is make him more of a target.” 

“Not to worry you further, but the alpha pack probably already knows quite a bit about who’s hanging out with whom and stuff. There was a lady at my house when those guys vandalized the cars at Peter’s house. Peter believes that she’s a magic user. If she knew who I am to the pack, they probably know that your dad’s working with Peter, too.” 

“Fuck, Stiles,” Jackson exploded. “That’s not what I wanted to hear!” 

“I know. And I’m sorry. But Peter taught me a valuable lesson.” Stiles placed a strawberry danish on Jackson’s plate and delicately pushed it towards him in an attempt to placate the teen. 

Sullenly, Jackson picked up the pastry and took a huge bite. “Which would be?” 

“That not informing people who really need to know is a shitty thing to do because that’s even more dangerous than actually preparing them for whatever crap is going on,” Stiles answered. “Your dad’s the rational and observant sort; if he’s not suspicious already, he might soon be. The alpha pack isn’t exactly subtle and there’s only so much you can pin on a crazy cult or animal attacks.” 

Jackson glared at the half-eaten danish before turning his frosty stare on Stiles. “Funnily enough that doesn’t make me feel any better.” 

Stiles grimaced. “I know, right? Why must the coolness of all that supernatural stuff be totally eclipsed by the creepiness? That’s so unfair.” 

For a moment they sat in silence, Jackson playing with his pastry and Stiles finishing his croissant, slathering it with butter and nutella. 

“You remember how I told you that I can’t deal with a lot of stuff?” Jackson asked, apropos of nothing. 

Stiles licked a few crumbs from his lips. “Uh, yeah?” 

Fidgeting, Jackson looked out the window. “This thing with the werewolves is one of those things.”

“That's fair,“ Stiles told him. “They're not exactly teddy bears. Unfortunately it's the one thing you can't really talk about.“

“I wish I could.“ Jackson gritted his teeth but kept on talking. “My parents … they try. Mom’s paying for therapy now, and they’re so … understanding. Of me needing that. But.” Jackson halted, visibly uncomfortable. 

“But?” Stiles prompted carefully when the silence threatened to become too long. 

“But it feels … dishonest, right now. And also strange. Like they want things to go back to normal before I found out that … you know.” Jackson clenched his hand to a fist and stared at his mangled breakfast. 

_So that's what it really is about_ , Stiles thought and blew out an annoyed breath. “You’re adopted. Everyone knows, and yeah, some douchebag kids teased you for it, but dude, it's not a _disease._ I must be the hundredth person to tell you that in some ways you’ve got it insanely good. Your parents _picked you_ , they gave you a great home, they love you, and because they love you they’d do anything for you, including sending you to therapy so you can have a happy life.” 

“That’s just a platitude,” Jackson muttered angrily. “Every internet shrink can tell you those. I expected … more.” 

“Maybe you did, but that doesn’t mean it’s not true,” Stiles countered. “Believe me, Isaac wishes he’d had your life. His dad is an utter asshole. Just ask him if he’d trade with you if he could.” He paused. “Once he’s forgiven you for not stepping in, that is. He could’ve been rid of that monster much sooner, and been spared a lot of literal grief. He might never have gotten involved with werewolves if you’d just stepped in.” 

Jackson flinched. “I said I was sorry.” 

“You actually didn’t,” Stiles went on, prodding mercilessly at the other boy. “But you definitely should. Isaac _suffered_ because you couldn’t be bothered to let someone know what was going on. An anonymous tip would’ve been enough. That you couldn’t do even that is the height of cowardice.” 

“You promised my mom that you wouldn’t start a fight,” Jackson ground out, looking away again. He was pale all over, except for his burning cheeks. 

“And I’m not. All I’m doing is telling you to your face where you fucked up.” Stiles placed a hand on Jackson’s tense arm. “I’m not gonna tell you what you should talk about with your therapist, but this might be important. It’s not _normal_ to ignore stuff like domestic violence, okay. It wouldn’t have endangered your place with your parents or whatever stupid shit you were thinking, and it’s got nothing to do with the supernatural, so don’t blame your issues on that, okay.” 

Jackson took a shuddery breath. “I could be a freak sociopath. I sure feel like one.” 

“Don’t be dramatic,” Stiles retorted. “You’re just messed up. Worse, you having abandonment issues or whatever makes you irrational about letting at least your dad know what’s going on, as well.” 

“Maybe I’m irrational, but he’s my _dad._ That doesn’t change anything,” Jackson hissed. He looked close to flipping the whole table in a display of temper. 

“I _get_ it, you moron,” Stiles sighed. “And if I had magic enough to make the evil go away and just keep the amazeballs parts of the supernatural stuff, I would. But I don’t right now so we’ll have to make the best of what we’ve got. Alright?” 

Jackson glared at Stiles, first at his face and then at the hand on his biceps. “You leave my family alone, Stiles. I mean it.” 

“ _I’m_ not gonna tell them anything,” Stiles promised easily enough. “But if your dad so much as gives Peter an opening, Peter will take it. He has to, because we desperately need more adult help, and your dad is sort of prime material.” 

“ _We_ ,” Jackson scoffed. 

Stiles took it as a good sign that the other teen hadn’t shrugged off his hand yet. “Yes, _we_ , you dumbass. You’re in the know now so that makes you sort of pack-adjacent.” 

“I thought you’re not gonna care for those who don’t want to be involved?” Jackson relaxed a little, the fight largely leaving his tense frame. 

“You helped me track down Scott in the woods back then,” Stiles replied with a shrug. “I’m not gonna forget that, even if you’re being an idiot at the moment.” 

“You just want me to help you morons out some more,” Jackson accused, but he slumped a little and even returned a tiny bit of the pressure Stiles’ hand put on him. 

“I’ve got no shame in admitting it.” Stiles smirked and patted Jackson’s arm before taking his hand away. “Drop me a text if you feel like mentally scarring the others via the painting of rocks. But not on Thursday, that’s Scott’s adjudication.” He pursed his lips. “And I guess not tomorrow either, what with it being your birthday.” 

“Definitely not tomorrow, or Friday,” Jackson agreed, still a little defensive. 

“Ooh, someone’s got a hot date planned.” Stiles raised both thumbs. “I approve.” 

“Not a date, just me and my parents tomorrow. The jury's still out whether I wanna take Lydia out on Friday. Later, there'll be a party at the Jungle, though.” Jackson dipped a finger into the vanilla pudding on his danish and sucked it off. “That’s why Danny and I wanted to go there on Saturday, to finalize the arrangement.” 

“Crap, I’m sorry. But Danny managed to do it?” 

Jackson’s mouth twisted in a humourless half-smile. “Yeah. He’s good for that. It helps that my parents paid an advance.” 

Stiles raised an eyebrow at him. “If that’s not proof that they like your sorry ass, I don’t know what more you could want. My dad would have a conniption fit if I even hinted at wanting to throw a wild underage party.” 

“Sucks to be you,” Jackson snarked, the smugness back in force for a moment. It fell away only a moment later, though, and an uncharacteristic shyness crept over Jackson’s face. “Uhm, you wouldn’t want to … you know, come?” 

“To your party?” Stiles asked, just to make sure. 

“Yes. It’s Saturday night, starting at nine. You could bring the other losers as well … to make sure those alpha creeps aren’t gonna crash it.” Jackson shrugged a little. “Maybe not Reyes. No offence, but she’d totally flip her shit under the strobe lights.” 

“She probably would,” Stiles admitted, disappointed on her behalf, but accepting it. “I’ll tell the others.” 

Jackson nodded. “Thanks.” He flushed a little. “And thanks for coming over. It’s fucking hard work, talking to you, but.” He gesticulated. “You know.” 

“Yeah.” Stiles did know. “For what it’s worth, I really do get where you’re coming from. If I can, I won’t badger you about it. But you’re allowed to talk to us.” At Jackson’s disbelieving scoff he repeated, “You _are_. You should apologize to Isaac and maybe do something fucking nice for him, too, but we’re not gonna turn you away if you’ve got trouble dealing. Us squishy humans have to support each other.” 

“You’re not so squishy anymore with your magic,” Jackson pointed out, but he did look somewhat convinced. 

“And you’re hell with a lacrosse stick,” Stiles returned. “Also, Mace isn’t too shabby against a werewolf either. Just something for you to think about.” He snagged a danish and rose. “I’d better go now, let you have the day to yourself.” 

Jackson didn’t rise to see him out, but he said, “See you Saturday. And … I’m rooting for you and your dad on Thursday. McCall needs to rot in a cell somewhere not here. Let me know how it went?” 

“Sure.” Stiles saluted him and took his leave, eager to get back to his friends and family. 

“Everything alright?” Derek asked after Stiles had climbed into the jeep. “You smell a little harrowed.” 

“Yeah, I’m good. You got all of that?” Stiles started the engine and steered the jeep away from the house. 

“I got enough. Seems like we’ll go to a party.” Derek didn’t look enthusiastic about it, but he certainly wasn’t opposed to the plan. “Isaac at least will enjoy it.” 

“Let’s just hope that the alpha jerks won’t actually crash it,” Stiles said, pulling a face. “Because one and a half alphas against five are lousy odds.” 

“You just _had_ to jinx it,” Derek growled. “When will you learn?“

**End of chapter 53**


	54. Chapter 54

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Halloween's approaching, and so is election day in the U.S. I hope you all over there will get through these last few hectic days until then safely! *huggles*

**Chapter 54**

On Wednesday, Stiles’ father stayed home. This was remarkable insofar that the hunt for the Lobos Locos in the area was in full swing and the sheriff was actually indispensable at this point. That he still took the time to do this told Stiles more than even ten-thousand words could. 

“Thanks for taking the time to go over it one more time,” John told the lawyer. “Stiles told me that it’s Jackson’s birthday; I’m sure you’d rather spend your time at home.” 

Mr. Whittemore waved that away. “Jackson is one hundred percent behind this meeting, I can assure you. While his relationship with Stiles is somewhat rocky, there is definitely no love lost between him and the McCall boy. Jackson actually somewhat considers me representing you against the family a birthday present, as horrifying as that may sound.” 

“I’m not remotely horrified,” Stiles said, pleased that Jackson really wasn’t making it difficult for them. When his dad sighed, he insisted, “I’m not! Without the rose-coloured lenses Scott really is just another teenage delinquent and I’ve got no time for his bullshite.” 

Mr. Whittemore smiled briefly. “That’s good to hear. To that effect, I’d like to remove you two as much as possible from the proceedings. Since the hearings have already happened, there shouldn’t be a great need to call you into the witness stand, but if Judge O’Neill decides to allow it, be as stark and concise as you can. Do not let anyone pressure you into qualifying a statement. Mr. Clark is the type to attack emotionally and he will try to manipulate you into making allowances for Mr. McCall’s behaviour.” 

“Understood,” the sheriff said and made a note on his writing pad. He smiled wryly. “Thankfully, I’ve got a lot of experience with interrogations, on both sides. My son, not so much.” 

Stiles huffed. “Says who. That Clark dude can try to intimidate me, but he won’t win that game.” 

His father glanced at Mr. Whittemore. “How opposed are you to my kid mouthing off so badly at Clark that he completely loses his mind?” 

“Not opposed at all,” Mr. Whittemore replied evenly, the smooth bastard. “I can’t stand that idiot, and neither can the judge.” He turned to Stiles, a slight grin on his face. “If you can pull it off without being in contempt of the proceedings, I’ll spring for lunch tomorrow.” 

“Challenge accepted.” Stiles smirked at his father. “Relax, you know I wouldn’t endanger our position for a burger and some curly fries.” 

“True,” the sheriff conceded. “Still, only do it if the opportunity presents itself. Deliberate goading won’t amuse the judge, and she doesn’t deserve it in any case.” 

“Cross my heart,” Stiles said, still a little giddy with all the possibilities. Lou was crawling all over his back in response, excited for Stiles just because Stiles was looking forward to it. “So, hiding behind Mr. Whittemore, check. What else?” 

“I’d like to collect statements for the closing pleas. If there’s something you wish to tell Judge O’Neill, and possibly Scott McCall, this is the moment to make it known. Afterwards you probably won't see either again for a long time.” 

“Has Peter given you something as well? How is his lawsuit against the Argents coming along?” Stiles asked. “Clark might bring him up if Melissa wasn’t able to talk him out of his crazy ramblings.” 

“Peter said to use him in whatever way necessary so you can get justice. You just need to get your facts straight,” Mr. Whittemore said, one eyebrow raised as he recited the instruction. “While I admire Peter’s willingness to ensure Mr. McCall’s proper punishment, I wish he weren’t quite so self-sacrificing.” 

Stiles wondered how much Whittemore actually knew. The way he looked just now ... like someone who knew who the co-conspirators were and was just waiting for the acknowledgement. 

“Hold on,” Stiles said and typed out a message to Peter. 

_Yo, Jaxn’s dad in the know?_

_Your chat speak is appalling, sweet cheeks_ , came the prompt reply. _Yes, as far as my involvement that night went, and that I’m ‘other’. I still need to fill him in properly, but he does not seem repulsed so far_. _If anything, he’s even more horrified by The Failure’s deeds than before_. 

Stiles gnawed on his bottom lip. _Kay. Be careful with this one. Jaxn’s going bonkers rn. Should I give Mr. W. some warding origami?_

_If you would_ , Peter answered immediately. _David is not sceptical as such, but I know he’d feel better with a small token of acknowledgement. And while he’s dedicated to his clients as a rule, he does worry about his family’s safety._

Stiles put down the phone and looked intently at Mr. Whittemore. “Peter said it was okay to lay it all on you. Can we trust you to make the best of it?” 

“You have my word as your lawyer … and as a friend.” Mr. Whittemore started when Stiles abruptly got up and left the kitchen, and he was even more confused when Stiles set down a small carton full of origami animals in front of him after his return. “What is this?” 

“Those are portable wards,” Stiles said matter-of-factly. “As in, magic wards. Pick one for each room in your house, including the bathrooms, cellar, hallways, and attic, and place them somewhere. Personally, I like to attach them to the lamps because they can’t get lost that way, but you do what you like.” 

Mr. Whittemore’s mouth dropped open. “Magic wards. I thought Peter was having me on.” 

The sheriff sighed, a little weary and a lot fond. “Nope, it’s real. You should see what else he can do. This house is warded to the nines.” 

After a moment, Mr. Whittemore looked again at Stiles, gaze imploring. “So, I just pick some of those?” 

“Yep. And I’d like for you to accept these bracelets as a special token of our regard. I spelled them for protection specifically, so you should really convince your wife to wear it.” 

“What about Jackson? Did you spell his bracelet, too?” Mr. Whittemore asked as he took the two bracelets from Stiles. They were rather generic compared to the ones Stiles had made for his friends but no less effective for that. 

“Not yet; I forgot yesterday. I’ll do that on Saturday,” Stiles said. “Go on, just grab a dozen of the origamis. I can always make more.” 

A little reluctantly, Jackson’s father began picking out folded animals. Soon, he had a healthy collection of monkeys, wolves, horses, and birds standing like a small army on the table. “They don’t look like they could ward our house against evil. They’re so … bright.” 

“I went with colours because always folding black squares got boring real fast,” Stiles said with a shrug. “Hide them if you don’t like the colours, the magic won’t care. They just need to be in your house.” 

“No, I …” Mr. Whittemore eyed Stiles like he couldn’t quite believe what they were actually talking about. “I’ll place them like they deserve. It’s just … I would pick more sedate colours, if I were paying for them, is all. Being a grown-up seems to make me boring.” 

Stiles grinned. “I’ll take that into consideration.” 

“I absolutely don’t want to appear ungrateful,” Mr. Whittemore added. “Not at all. I believed Peter when he explained a few things to me. I'm just a little ... overwhelmed.” 

“Maybe you should talk to Jackson about it,” Stiles offered. “He’s pretty much set against being involved and hates the idea of you and his mom being in danger, but it could still help with the processing.” 

“He’s a good kid,” Whittemore returned quietly. “It just threw him to learn of the adoption. He’ll find his feet again.” 

“I don’t want to intrude or anything, but maybe you should go to therapy as a family.” Stiles fidgeted a little under the man’s look. “It’s just the way Jackson talks about stuff, not because it's super obvious or anything.” 

“And that’s all you’re going to say on the subject,” his father said evenly. 

“Yes, yes, absolutely. No more talk about things that don’t really concern me.” Stiles grabbed the origami box and beat a hasty retreat. 

Back in his room, Derek was judging Stiles with the eyebrows of doom. “You just can’t keep your mouth shut.” 

“It's Peter's fault. He went ahead and told Jackson’s dad,” Stiles countered. He ran a hand through his hair. “I thought he’d wait a little longer, but I guess there are things going on in the adult proceedings that made that necessary.” 

Derek put the book down he’d been reading and stepped up to Stiles for a quick one-armed hug. “The Argent information on the family’s rogue elements is strong stuff. I got a look at it some time ago; quite a bit of it paints Gerard and Kate as cultists with severe mental health issues. Unfortunately, some of the events still can’t be explained away with that. You probably were right and Whittemore became curious enough to allow Peter to bring him in.” 

“Jackson will hate that,” Stiles mumbled. 

“But Peter and Whittemore will be able to field that whole debacle so much better together than alone,” Derek replied. “I’m sorry for Jackson’s sake, but we need Peter free and above suspicion. If Whittemore can help with that, I’m all for it.” 

“Yeah. Still, I’ve made sure that they’re all pretty well protected, provided they’re not gallivanting all over the county. Anyway, I’d better get back down and finish the meeting; I don’t wanna give Scott’s side anything to hit us with.” 

Derek nodded. “You do that, and afterwards we’ll meet Erica and Boyd in the workshop. They want to see you.” 

“They do?” Stiles felt a huge wave of relief roll up from his stomach up into his chest. “Fuck yes!” 

Elated, he bounded back down, and within another two hours, Mr. Whittemore had everything he needed to compose his statements and Stiles was free to join his friends. 

oOo

“I genuinely can’t believe it that tomorrow’s the day,” Erica said as she, Boyd, Isaac, and Stiles were sitting at the long table in the workshop and painting rocks. 

“I know, right?” Stiles replied. “It seemed so far away back in April. But I’m glad it’ll be over then. Just imagine having this at the back of your mind all summer.” 

“I’m really glad I don’t have to think much about stuff like that,” Erica declared, “but of course we’re rooting for you. Too bad we can’t come in and support you.” 

“Not even I can come,” Isaac huffed. He still wasn’t over it, and he’d known for ages. “But Peter and Derek will be there, so that’s something.” 

“Not to forget the small parade of people who Scott’s lawyer insisted on questioning, despite them giving the judge written testimonials and reports to make the hearing more efficient,” Stiles added with an eye roll. “I had a feeling that the guy would want to make things difficult.” 

“Don’t lawyers always?” Boyd asked quietly. He placed his finished stone onto the rack and grabbed another. His colour today was ultramarine blue and he was stoically keeping to it, despite Erica occasionally trying to change the bottle to something more cheery. 

Derek turned on the ergonomic desk chair Stiles had ordered for himself and announced, “I filled the orders, but delivery might take a backseat until Friday. Should I send an e-mail?” 

“Yeah, do it. People get grumpy about unannounced delays,” Isaac said. 

Derek nodded and turned back to use the computer on Stiles’ desk. 

“Now that we know that Stiles is magic, it’s so cool that people are actually buying your stuff.” Erica looked away from the busily typing Derek and back to Stiles. “What are your bestsellers so far?” 

“Well, we’ve only had like three orders,” Stiles replied, “but two wanted healing cards, and the latest wanted a whole bunch of good luck cards. Maybe they need money or something and want to try it out on a lottery ticket.” 

“Would it work?” Boyd asked with raised eyebrows. 

Stiles waved his hand in a so-so move. “Those cards are not meant for huge lucky events. More like, ‘wow, I can’t believe I found a fifty dollar bill’ stuff, or other things on that scale.” 

“Fifty quid is nothing to sneeze at,” Erica said, “but what would someone have to pay for a card that'd guarantee a real lottery jackpot win?” 

“Messing with Lady Luck is tricky.” Stiles critically inspected his finished stone, a googly-eyed, fat lion with red mane and a maw full of razor sharp teeth. “Using magic to favour someone like that _feels_ wrong. I tried and had to back off because it made me nauseous.” 

Erica pouted. “But _why_?” 

Helplessly, Stiles shrugged. “It might have to do something with the cosmic order, which really is just chaos. It’s like this: if someone wins several million dollars and claims the money, it’s not just a bunch of dollar bills that’s changing hands. There’s _value_ attached to that money, and even if I were to give my good luck card to a hospital or some charity, I just can’t know where else that value might be missing as a result. I could mess up something really important. That stuff has kept me up at night.” 

“So small stuff is okay, but no world-changing windfalls, got it.” She pointed at Isaac. “I want to check out your magic thingies. How much is a good luck card?” 

“Five dollars,” Isaac said. “Ten for a medium healing pack, fifty for one that could save you from almost certain death.” 

“It sounds expensive, but I promise that we deliver,” Stiles hastened to say when he saw his friends’ shocked faces. “And honestly, Peter said we might charge much more, especially for the heavy duty healing stuff, but we need to build a customer base first.” 

“Almost certain death?” Erica asked, eyes wide. 

“That’s some serious money,” Boyd added. 

“It will be, if the shop ever takes off,” Stiles said. “Peter thinks it probably will, but at this point all we can do is wait. It’s not like we can advertise without giving away too much information about us. That would be a really bad idea with how many supernatural douchebags are out there.” 

“I won’t say anything,” Erica promised, to which Boyd nodded. “But I think I should really invest in a couple of those healing cards. Just in case. If five dollars can spare me some serious time in the hospital, I’ll gladly pay the price.” 

“You know what, the first couple are on us.” Stiles got up and fetched two for both her and Boyd. “Try them out and give us honest feedback. Don’t hold back if they suck.” 

“Which they _won’t_ ,” Isaac interjected with a huff. “Give them their origami animals.” 

Grinning at Isaac’s grouchiness, Stiles got the box out from under the table and shoved it at Boyd. “Jackson’s dad already went through it, but there should be enough left for you.” He repeated the spiel about what counted as a room to his rapt audience and watched as his friends went to town.

Erica squealed when Boyd unearthed a blue seal. “That one’s mine!” 

Boyd tolerantly let her have first pick and rewarded her with an unashamed kiss when she separated out the ones she obviously knew he favoured. 

“Boyd’s a huge kitty fan,” she explained when Boyd pocketed the half dozen folded cats. “Me, I like almost everything, except spiders. Speaking of which, can you do wards against pests? We’re being overrun by mosquitoes at home, and my parents can't use chemicals because of me.” 

Stiles glanced at Isaac. “I might. I’ll try it out.” He didn’t even flinch guiltily when Derek dropped off Isaac’s notebook at the boy’s elbow so he could write the idea down. 

“Is it always like this?” Erica asked, not quite voluntarily tracking Derek’s fit form as he sauntered through the workshop to get a bottle of water from the fridge. “You collect ideas just like that?” 

“Always,” Isaac said, jotting down several notes. “Last time it went like this, Stiles’ dad suggested something for stealth. He’s regretting that already.” 

“A lot.” Stiles smirked. “I’m still working on the rune for that, but it’s coming along and Derek is a very good test subject. Yesterday he walked right by my dad and plucked the beer out of his hand without dad seeing him coming. It was hilarious.” 

“I’m guessing that’s not something you’ll sell to whoever,” Boyd murmured. “Could be dangerous.” 

“Yeah, no, we’re not stupid. All our public stuff got a failsafe, too, so people who’re trying to attack us can’t use it against us.” Stiles grimaced. “That’d be really, really bad.” 

“But do you know what could be really good?” Erica leaned forward excitedly. “Using a good luck card for this court thing. That’s not too unethical, right?” 

“Not in my opinion,” Isaac growled. He turned his glowing eyes on Stiles. “You’ll use a fucking good luck card. You’ll need any help you can get against McCall’s fucking hangdog expression.” 

“Yessir,” Stiles said quickly, not so subtly prodded by Lou’s restless wandering and Derek’s expectantly raised eyebrows. 

“And you’ll tell us everything, once it is over,” Erica continued. “I need to know that the teen psycho’s gonna be put behind bars.” 

“That’s not really in my power to ensure, but I’ll do my best,” Stiles said, tapping his foot against hers. “Thanks for still wanting to be our friend, Catwoman. We appreciate it.” He nodded at Boyd. “You too, I guess, since you haven’t run for the hills yet.” 

“I am in the hills already,” Boyd retorted. “Wouldn’t make much sense to run.” 

oOo

On Thursday morning, Stiles was _nervous_. His friends’ text messages were helping a little to get him through his shower and the dressing part of the morning, but actually having breakfast proved to be impossible. Thankfully, Derek was much more level-headed than him and simply pressed a coffee concoction consisting of equal parts decaf, hot chocolate, cream, butter, and a scoop of protein powder into his sweaty hands. 

“This abomination has no business smelling so good,” the sheriff muttered as he entered the kitchen and nodded when Derek made a questioning noise. “Yeah, yeah, make me one, too. Thanks.” He focused on Stiles. “We’ll get through this, kiddo. Take a few deep breaths. Whittemore will do all the heavy lifting.” 

“I know,” Stiles whined. “It’s just … it’s _Scott_. Like, I can’t believe that my best friend for a decade is likely sentenced to _jail time_ today. Even if I sort of hate him.” 

“It’s terrible,” his father agreed softly. He patted Stiles’ shoulder. “You’re strong, you’ll deal with it in time.” 

They all nursed their drinks until it was time to leave. Since none of them had anywhere else to be after the adjudication, they carpooled in the sheriff’s cruiser and were silent all the way to the court building. Lou was so restless that he bled over to Derek’s hand where it was circling Stiles’ wrist. In response, Derek’s eyes flickered between blue and hazel, but otherwise the werewolf wasn’t bothered. 

As they entered the foyer of the building, Stiles stopped and let out a gusty sigh. “Oh.” 

From across the room, Peter, all dressed up in a dark suit and crisp, white shirt, smiled at him. 

“Judge O’Neill decided to call him in, in case she needs clarification for anything Scott or Clark might say,” Stiles’ father explained. 

Stiles felt a huge knot of tension release inside of him and without consciously thinking about it he crossed the foyer and pulled Peter into a tight embrace without hesitation. 

“Mmh, what a nice hello,” Peter rumbled, returning the hug. Discreetly, he snuffled along Stiles’ neck. “You’re troubled.” 

“Not anymore,” Stiles murmured. “Can you sit with us, or will you be called in when the judge wants you to answer questions?” 

“I lobbied for sitting with you, to which The Failure’s lawyer argued that my continuous presence might unsettle his client unduly,” Peter replied dryly. “Fortunately, Judge O’Neill didn’t have time for his nonsense and shot him down. I do have to keep my mouth shut unless asked a direct question by her.” 

Stiles snorted. “Unsettle away any way you can, Creeper Wolf. I have a bet to win.” 

“Ah, yes, the bet.” Peter let go and smiled toothily at Mr. Whittemore. “I hope I’ll be invited along to that lunch, David?” 

Whittemore smirked back. “I wouldn’t _dream_ of leaving you out. Your presence in my life has certainly spiced things up.” 

“A bit too much, if you ask me,” Stiles’ father said as he and Derek joined the little group. “Just wait until you learn the gritty details.” 

“I know enough at this point,” Mr. Whittemore returned, never losing his wry smile. “I know that you know me as something of a hardass from my time as prosecutor, John, but I can be … flexible when formerly unknown facts come to my attention.” 

“That’s a slippery slope to get on,” the sheriff warned, frowning a little. 

Whittemore nodded. “It can be, but it isn’t in this case.” He glanced around to make sure that no one was close enough to overhear. “Scott McCall might have acted out due to his … then-status, but he was warned off multiple times and told that what he was doing was a recipe for disaster. What’s more, he used the advantages of that _status_ to hurt not one but two people for his own gain who did _not_ have those advantages.” 

“It could be argued that Scott had a reason,” Derek murmured, shifting a little uncomfortably next to Stiles. “He was desperate to return to his old self and therefore didn't believe in those warnings.” 

“So are thousands of people every day,” Whittemore returned patiently. “Drug addicts are _desperate_ for money for their next fix despite knowing that their addiction will eventually kill them; gang members are _desperate_ to defend their territory despite knowing full well that they might land in prison, or worse, in a coffin; some husbands are _desperate_ to make their wives obey despite knowing that violence is hardly the way to go if one wants to inspire love and loyalty. Their _desperation_ is not an acceptable reason to steal, kill, and torment. To me, McCall is just another delinquent who chose to use potentially deadly force against people who were like family to him when there were many opportunities available to deal with his problem.” 

“Because Scott was blinded by pu … er, Allison and her family.” Stiles flushed under his father’s reproachful look. “Sorry, but it’s true. He didn’t listen to anyone but her family. It was pathetic.” 

“Maybe don’t tell it like that in front of the judge, mmh?” Peter said. “There’s no need to feather The Failure’s little insanity plea nest further.” 

“Nope, no feathering,” Stiles agreed hastily. He burrowed his face in his hands. “Oh my god, I’ll ruin it. My motor mouth will be our downfall.” 

“Remember the card,” Derek said quietly. “Use it once we’re inside the courtroom.” 

Gratefully, Stiles looked at him. “I will.” 

The loudspeakers in the foyer activated and a voice called out their names and a room number. 

“That’s us,” Mr. Whittemore said, straightening his suit jacket and brushing over his sleeve. “Showtime.” 

**End of chapter 54**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might have one more chapter in me before I really have to start my NaNo prep (re-reading the first part of my series and getting back in the groove, mainly; thankfully I've plotted out the most important points a year or so ago). But, no promises.


	55. Chapter 55

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back, folks! I conquered my goal for NaNo, which was to complete the second part of my series. It's now with my beta readers and awaits their mean red pens. As usual I'm a nervous wreck, but getting back into this story will help to distract me. 
> 
> So, this chapter. It's a lot of court talk, but since I'm not a lawyer I had to make up stuff as I went along. I hope it's not too outlandish, haha. If something's really super wrong or unlikely, let me know and I'll try to make it better. 
> 
> Have fun and stay safe!

**Chapter 55**

_Showtime_ was the word for it. An adjudication was meant to be kept fairly small and, even more importantly, short, but that obviously wasn’t what Scott’s lawyer was going for. A few minutes after the Stilinski party had taken their seats, and during which Stiles had ripped his very first good luck card, two officers escorted Melissa and her ex-husband Rafe to the seats by Mr. Clark, and then Doctor Deaton was calmly strolling to one of the few visitor chairs and settled in like he owned the place. Scott, who came in last, accompanied by yet another officer, looked surprisingly fresh and infuriatingly _gentle_ as he gingerly sat by his parents. He appeared almost smart in the white shirt and dark suit jacket he’d been given, but not quite. 

“I didn’t think it was possible, but I can actually see the difference between wolf and no wolf,” Stiles’ father murmured as he appraised Scott’s slightly slouchy form. “Fascinating.” 

“There’s no longer that edge,” Stiles agreed, furious again because that not so little fact would probably influence the judge’s ruling. “Let’s hope that Judge O’Neill won’t be fooled by his innocent sheeple cosplay.” 

“Innocent sheeple cosplay,” Derek echoed faintly. 

Peter smirked. “She won’t be.” 

Scott chose that moment to turn his puppy dog eyes to Stiles and offer a hesitant smile. 

Like things would be _okay_ once this was over. 

“Shhh, it’s alright,” the sheriff soothed and placed a heavy hand on Stiles’ tense shoulder. “We’re all here, and things won’t go back to how they were before he decided to turn on us.” 

“How do you know what I was thinking?” Stiles croaked. He swallowed against the nausea in the back of this throat. 

“I know because I know _you_ , kiddo. But I promise, whatever’s going to be decided today, Scott’s _out_ of our lives.” 

“I can always make that permanent,” Peter threw in, voice silky and genuinely inviting. “Just say the word.” 

John’s voice didn’t even rise as he answered, “Don’t take us too seriously in the next couple of months; depending on how this goes there might be a lot of cursing and wishing the kid the worst.” 

Stiles managed to collect himself. “This. A lot of cursing will happen, so no going a-murdering without a rational discussion.” 

“As much as I adore your clever mind, I’m not convinced that you can be _rational_ when it comes to The Failure,” Peter murmured. 

“There you have it,” Stiles returned just as quietly, a little more settled already. “If necessary, we can ruin his life in a thousand other ways.” 

Peter’s smile widened. “We?” 

“Of course _we_. Ruining Scott, if he gets out of line again, should be a team effort.” 

“Stiles,” the sheriff sighed. “Could you maybe keep your diabolical planning out of the courtroom, please?” 

“Sure, daddio.” Stiles had it in him to smile, despite noticing Scott actually leaning forward in a futile attempt at listening in. _Yet another thing you’ve taken for granted, Scotty Boy._

His father patted his shoulder one last time. “Good. I’d hate to have to visit you in prison.” 

“You’d let them send me to prison?” Stiles squawked. “Very uncool, dad!” 

“I’d break you out,” Peter purred. 

“I’d help,” Derek added without any hesitation. 

Stiles was tempted to grab them both and smush his cheek against theirs in some active-aggressive scent-marking because _that_ was just _amazing_. Only the bailiff announcing the start of the session kept him from sappily showing his appreciation, but Peter’s pleased little smirk told Stiles that he’d gotten the message. 

Judge O’Neill strode into the room, took her seat, and impatiently greeted everyone after the bailiff’s dutiful recounting of the particulars. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, I have four other cases to rule. I’d therefore appreciate clear and concise pleas after I’ve laid out the facts and the district attorney’s recommendation for punishment. My final verdict will follow. Mr. Clark, you have the floor.” 

Mr. Clark stood and straightened his lapel. “Thank you, Your Honour. After taking all the available information into consideration, this case is _complicated_ , to say the least. Quite a few things still don’t make any real sense, the reason for the falling out between Mr. Stilinski and my client being the most obvious. Unfortunately, Mr. Stilinski has refused so far to tell us his side of it in detail and I therefore would like for a redirect of a previous witness before I present my plea.” 

“That’s highly unusual,” Judge O’Neill said, unamused. “You had several months to procure this information and I’m not inclined to let you waste my time like this. We are, by your own request, not at trial. There is no jury to impress.” 

“We were stonewalled by the family,” Mr. Clark said evenly. “We got some facts, certainly, but what is missing, in my opinion, is the human factor in all this. As things stand right now, Mr. McCall was completely driven by emotion, and Mr. Stilinski apparently not at all, something that I can hardly believe, considering that both are, by all accounts, normal teenagers. The severity of events alone should have provoked a more human response by Mr. Stilinski, wouldn’t you agree?” 

“Objection,” Mr. Whittemore said and stood. “Mr. Stilinski is no less human just because he’s been following the basic rules of keeping his private life private.” 

“I’d like to question Mr. Stilinski, with your permission, Your Honour, to find out just how involved Mr. Stilinski really was in Mr. McCall’s turn from, ah, acceptable behaviour.” 

“Objection, Your Honour,” Mr. Whittemore said again. “First of all, Scott McCall’s recounting of events is, in fact, unnecessarily studded with emotion, and second of all is his recount a fantastical fairytale more fit for children than the near-adult he is.” 

“Stiles nearly got me killed,” Scott interjected. “For a lark!” 

“Mr. McCall, you’ll let your lawyer speak unless you’re being questioned in an official capacity,” Judge O’Neill said sharply. “Do it again and you’ll be fined.” 

Scott pressed his lips together in frustration but nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” 

“Good. Now, while Mr. Clark is clearly fishing, I’ll allow it on account of wanting to know the whole truth as well,” Judge O’Neill continued. “Do not object, Mr. Whittemore; we all know that Mr. Stilinski was rather light on certain details. If Mr. Clark feels that he needs that specific information to better prepare his plea, I’ll allow it - and allow the same courtesy in return. You may ask Mr. McCall the same amount of questions. I’ll keep count.” 

Mr. Whittemore nodded curtly and Stiles noted that Scott’s lawyer didn’t look nearly as triumphant than he’d obviously expected to be. Having turnabout be fair play had obviously not really factored into his little plan. 

“Will you be alright?” Mr. Whittemore asked Stiles. “Do you need a small break?” 

“No, it’s alright. But you all should make very clear what I’m allowed to say because Clark won’t pull his punches,” Stiles replied. He narrowed his eyes at Scott, who was staring at him. “Any hard limits?” 

“For you? None.” Peter smirked at Derek’s quiet growl. “No, really, go all out. As long as it doesn’t threaten my position against the Argents, tell them everything short of us being _other_.” 

Stiles cocked his head. “You really want me to win that bet, don’t you?” 

“Mmh, David’s favourite restaurant for lunch is La Toscana. Their _linguine tuttomare_ are to die for.” 

Whittemore smirked. “I’m beginning to regret inviting you along. You’ll eat me out of house and home.” 

“Mr. Stilinski, if you’d join me in the front?” Judge O’Neill called. “Unless you’d like to refuse to answer any question at all?” 

“Go,” Peter said and tipped his chin in Judge O’Neill’s direction. “Make him cry.” 

“Peter,” Stiles’ father sighed. 

Giving them all a small grin, Stiles stood and crossed the room. Having Scott’s eyes on him was still unpleasant after all these months of stalking, but it did lack the threatening feel from before. Even Lou was barely stirring on his skin; instead the wolf spirit was doing his best to cover all of Stiles’ back and hug him around the middle. It was downright sweet. 

“Mr. Stilinski, let me just remind us _all_ that you’re not on trial here,” Judge O’Neill said after he’d sat down in the witness chair, sending a look at Mr. Clark. “If you feel uncomfortable answering a question, just say so. Likewise, Mr. Whittemore and I will interfere should Mr. Clark ask questions outside his stated area of interest. Do you understand?” 

Stiles nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” 

“Very well. You may begin, Mr. Clark. Do remember to make it quick.” 

“Yes, Your Honour.” Clark turned his attention to Stiles, a slightly smug smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Mr. Stilinski, would you say that Mr. McCall was your best friend, before that night in January?” 

Stiles had no problem admitting it. “Yes.” 

“And would you say that it was this friendship that enabled you to persuade Mr. McCall to follow you into the preserve at night, to search for a dead body?” 

“It’s likely,” Stiles confessed. “Though it’s not like I dragged him out under threat of physical torture or something.” 

“Disappointing his only friend might have been just as bad,” Mr. Clark answered evenly. “In any case, you went into the woods, and got split up when Sheriff Stilinski discovered you?” 

“Yes,” Stiles said again, looking patiently at the lawyer. 

“You left Mr. McCall all alone in an unfamiliar area while it was dark,” Mr. Clark prodded. 

Stiles shrugged. “It was his choice. It was either being discovered and grounded until he’s thirty, or trekking home using his phone as a compass. It wouldn’t have been hard, we weren’t very far from civilization. Scott chose to hide, which was fair. His mom’s scary.” 

Melissa smiled tremulously at him. 

“But Mr. McCall didn’t know that he was close to town at the time,” Clark said. “He thought you’d abandoned him deep in the woods, in the dark and cold, knowing that it would be bad for his lungs.” 

“Scott’s phone would’ve told him in seconds how far he was from home,” Stiles replied calmly, beginning to enjoy the game Clark thought he was playing with him. “What he really thought after my dad got me, I don’t know. As to his asthma, he’s been asthmatic all his life. He had his inhaler, and he knew what he was about when he decided to join me on my ill-advised adventure.” 

Mr. Clark frowned. “You’re not sorry for stranding him in the woods?” 

“I’m sorry that he was scared,” Stiles admitted. “And I was sorry that I’d almost gotten him in huge trouble with his mom. She really didn’t deserve any of the crap Scott and I pulled over the years. But I’m not sorry for stranding him, because Scott did have a choice, and he made it.” 

“What a choice,” Mr. Clark almost sneered. 

“Objection,” Mr. Whittemore drawled. “It’s not expedient to try and make Stiles into some sort of _parent_ for Mr. McCall. While it wasn’t clever to go into the woods at night, Mr. Stilinski is not responsible for Mr. McCall’s actions. They were _both_ old enough to know what they were doing.” 

“Sustained,” Judge O’Neill said. “Continue, Mr. Clark, _without_ applying unrealistic standards to Mr. Stilinski.” 

Behind Mr. Clark, Rafael McCall’s face soured while Melissa smiled wryly. 

“Still, your abandonment did cause Mr. McCall to get lost in the woods, and lose his inhaler to boot when he was attacked by a large animal,” Mr. Clark said. 

“Objection,” Mr. Whittemore interjected. “Mr. Stilinski is exceedingly aware of the happenings in and around Beacon Hills due to his father’s work. While there are large predators in northern California, they’re largely, if not completely, accounted for by our gamekeepers and biologists. Mr. Stilinski did state that he probably wouldn’t have gone into the woods if there’d been reports of unusual animal activity.” 

“Sustained,” Judge O’Neill replied. “Get to the point, Mr. Clark.” 

“My point is that Mr. Stilinski’s carelessness directly resulted in Mr. McCall getting attacked by a wild animal and being hurt badly enough to pass out and spend the night in the woods. It might well have been fatal.” 

Stiles looked expectantly first at Clark and then at the judge. “Was there a question in there? Ma’am?” 

Judge O’Neill’s lips twitched. “No. Mr. Clark? You point?” 

“My point is that Mr. Stilinski’s unfeeling dismissal of Mr. McCall’s health led to a lengthy health crisis which included amnesia, uncommon aggression, uncommon sensitivity to lights, sounds, and smells, and a persisting brain fog that made studying nearly impossible.” 

“That sounds a lot like rabies,” Stiles said when another expectant silence settled on the room. 

“Exactly!” Mr. Clark almost cried triumphantly. He even almost pointed at Stiles. 

Stiles fought hard not to smirk. “Except that it can’t have been rabies because then Scott would be long dead. Sorry, Melissa.” 

“It was _something_ ,” Mr. Clark insisted. “Something that happened because _you_ convinced him to go out into the woods.” 

Judge O’Neill tapped her gavel. “We’ve already closed that avenue of questioning, Mr. Clark. Note that you’ll be fined for contempt. Do not make me escalate the fine by insisting on this line of questioning. The way I see it, you're dangerously close to applying undue pressure on a minor.” 

Clark’s face took on a ruddy tone but he caught himself and took a deep breath. “Yes, Your Honour. My apologies.” 

Stiles raised his hand. Innocently, like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth, he said, “Can I ask whether Scott went to the doctor after that night? I mean, you just told us how bad the bite was and how off he felt for weeks and months. Surely he’d have gone, seeing how his own mom works at the hospital?” 

Peter smiled toothily at him from across the room and even his father’s lip curled up slightly. In contrast, Scott’s face showed all of the betrayal he was capable of and only his father’s heavy hand on his shoulder kept him from blurting out something insulting. 

“I mean, it’s not like I didn’t suggest it to him a time or two,” Stiles continued. “Plus, I went into the preserve with him to look for his lost inhaler because that shi … stuff is expensive and Scott’s mom _really_ didn’t deserve having to pay for a replacement. Even if I did fail in applying common sense the night before, I did try to make it up.” 

“Mr. Clark?” Judge O’Neill prompted when the lawyer failed to respond. 

“He didn’t go, Your Honour,” Melissa supplied hesitantly after raising her hand. “I noticed that he was out of sorts for a while back in January, but I’d have known if he’d gone to one of the doctors at the hospital. Had he gone to one of the private practices in town, well. The bill would’ve come to me eventually, but there never was one.” 

“Thank you, Mrs. McCall,” Judge O’Neill said kindly. She turned her gaze back to Clark. “Now, will you pose the questions you really wish to ask, or can we stop and get to the ruling part of the morning?” 

“I have more,” Mr. Clark said, rallying. “I wish to know why Mr. Stilinski abandoned Mr. McCall when he was clearly suffering from that mysterious illness. Several witness reports paint a very dim picture of Mr. Stilinski quickly looking for new friends when his friendship with Mr. McCall turned sour through no fault of my client’s. Is it any wonder he turned to the only person still willing to interact with him, his then-girlfriend Allison Argent?” 

“First of all, it _was_ Scott’s fault,” Stiles told him bluntly. “I tried to help. I told him to go to a doctor but he wouldn’t listen because, next to the issues you described earlier, he was also breathing better and getting more fit by the day. Scott didn’t want to jeopardize that, I guess.” 

“Not surprising, after the ordeal he went through,” Clark said dismissively. 

“So it’s alright for Scott to not see a doctor if it’s about what he wants?” Stiles stared at Clark. “It’s alright for _him_ to focus so much on his girlfriend that I didn’t have any choice but to find new friends if I didn’t want to go through the rest of the school term a loner?” 

“That wasn’t how-,” Scott protested, only to be interrupted by the judge’s banging gavel. 

“That’s exactly what happened,” Stiles said evenly. “You were suddenly an _athlete_ , Scotty, and everything else but that and Allison ceased to matter. Just shows what sort of friend you are.” 

Mr. Clark cleared his throat. “Well, we’re not questioning Mr. McCall’s actions right now. Please state for the record since when he supposedly started making you feel uncomfortable, Mr. Stilinski.” 

“It’s all in the reports, but sure, I’ll gladly repeat myself for you.” Stiles winked when Peter snorted quietly. “It was around the end of February, I suppose, when Scott got it in his head that I ruined his chances of healing his weird health issue.” 

“The health issue that made him stronger and more healthy?” Judge O’Neill asked with a raised eyebrow. “I did note that his doctors failed to prescribe new medication for his asthma during January and April, and that he’s played first string on the lacrosse team before the events in the preserve.” 

“Yes,” Stiles replied. “Anyway, in Scott’s mind it was my fault that he’d never go back to normal now, and that’s when he started stalking me all over the school and probably out of it as well. Although, to be fair, I rarely noticed him then.” 

“But you acknowledge that Mr. McCall was desperate to regain his former status quo, even if you’re not inclined to accept the validity of that wish?” Mr. Clark pressed. 

“You misunderstand,” Stiles answered slowly. “I understood his wish very well. I was even sympathetic the first few weeks and tried to help him get through his issues however I could. There just wasn’t anything to be done about it. Certainly not whatever voodoo witchy stuff he’d dreamed up in his head. I mean, if an actual animal bite _transformed_ Scott’s health, for lack of a better word, I’m not sure what a mumbo jumbo ritual could’ve done to take it back. I merely told him so and earned his unrelenting menace for it.” He shrugged. “He even got his girlfriend to help with the stalking. It was rather scary since she was trained in martial arts and archery. Plus, he must’ve set her grandfather, Gerard Argent, on me as well, since he tried to _talk_ to me at home. Twice.” 

Now Mr. Clark looked like he’d bitten into a particularly bitter gourd. “You’re insinuating that the Argents were out to harm you.” 

“And you’re insinuating that they weren’t,” Stiles countered. “In case you’ve forgotten: Kate Argent was wanted for setting the Hale house on fire, nearly killing the whole family. She regularly spent time with Allison Argent before she died and taught her some tricks of her trade. Her grandfather was threatening me in school and out of it, for which my father and I have proof.” 

“You can’t prove that Gerard Argent truly meant to menace you,” Mr. Clark said and earned himself an incredulous look from almost everyone present. “And in any case, it’s not Ms. Argent or her family we’re talking about, but you.” 

“So what do you want to know? That I felt menaced enough to distance myself from Scott’s delusions and had the good fortune to find several new friends who weren’t douchebags? Or that meeting those friends literally helped me get through the crap Scott pulled just to get his way?” 

“Mr. Stilinski, what I’m really interested in is why you couldn’t simply support Mr. McCall in his endeavor to complete his … ritual, if he thought that’d help,” Mr. Clark asked. “As far as delusions go, it’d have been a harmless one.” 

Stiles stared at him and then looked over to his family. Derek’s expression was stony and he had his arms crossed over his chest, but Peter was returning his stare with intent. After a moment of brushing his shoulder against Derek’s he nodded subtly. 

_Do it_ , he mouthed.

Stiles exhaled, long and slow. “I couldn’t have supported him because it’d have been murder.” 

**End of chapter 55**


	56. Chapter 56

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are with yet more legalese. I hope it's not too far out there. This chapter certainly fought me tooth and nail and I'm glad that I can move on now from the court stuff. :) 
> 
> Have fun and stay safe!

**Chapter 56**

One could have heard a pin drop, it was so quiet after Stiles’ statement. Melissa’s shocked little gasp, followed by a wounded sound, was obscene. 

That moment of stunned silence couldn’t last, of course, and Judge O’Neill was the one to break it. "You’ll have to explain, Mr. Stilinski." 

And Stiles did. Leaving out the part of Peter being an actual werewolf, he told a tale of a disturbed teenager who was only too ready to place the blame for the unfortunate chain of events that saw him attacked by an animal on a family that had the misfortune of seeming suspicious due to their tragic circumstances. It was downright _easy_ to weave the Argents’ one-sided enmity with the Hales into the narrative and make it look plausible. 

Scott, of course, was fuming, and Mr. Clark tried more than once to interrupt, only to be harshly shot down by the judge. The third time Scott’s lawyer tried to halt Stiles’ explanation, he got slapped with another fine for contempt and was threatened with removal from the proceedings entirely if he did it again. 

_Gotcha_ , Stiles thought viciously as the man stomped back to his seat and sat down. Clark’s eyes were dry, but his dark scowl promised revenge. 

"So let me sum this up again, for the record," Judge O’Neill said, sounding faintly incredulous after Stiles was done, "Mr. McCall already tried to corner Mr. Hale in February to _kill_ him, which you prevented, Mr. Stilinski, and that’s why Mr. McCall stalked you all over the school and likely the town as well and eventually joined forces with Marcus Jacoby to finally attain that same goal." She turned to Scott. "We already know about that attempt in April, but we will have a long talk about that first one in February later, young man, because that definitely puts _this_ case into perspective." To Stiles, she said, "You may return to your family. Mr. Whittemore, do you wish to question Mr. McCall now?" 

Mr. Whittemore stood and nodded. "I do, Your Honour, to verify my client’s claims for the record and to make any following proceedings easier to handle for the court." 

"The court thanks you for that," Judge O’Neill said dryly. "Mr. McCall, it’s your turn in the stand now." 

Stiles sat next to his father and unashamedly leaned into his warm embrace. It had felt so very good to finally get all that crap off his chest, although now he was just tired of the whole thing and hoped that the rest of the morning could go on without his participation. It was already a given that whatever Scott had to say would make his blood pressure rise. 

"Mr. McCall, are there any points in Mr. Stilinski’s recounting of events you wish to contradict or explain further?" Mr. Whittemore asked. 

"Of course I do," Scott replied, affronted. He looked over to his father, but Rafe McCall’s expression was flat. "Everything Stiles said is totally wrong. I mean, yeah, I was in the forest in February, but only because Peter Hale forced me to be there. We were in mortal danger! Our only chance was to get him first! And ... and in April, what choice did I have? I needed to get him alone, so I could finally reclaim my humanity! But of course, he couldn’t be decent and just do his duty. No, I had to help that man Jacoby kidnap Stiles’ dad, just so Stiles would persuade Peter to meet us in the preserve." He turned anxious brown eyes to the sheriff. "I’m _really_ sorry about that, I didn’t want you to get hurt at all. It’s all Stiles’ fault." 

Stiles’ insides froze a little and he ground his teeth at the sheer gall. Under the table, Derek was taking his hand, the pressure a welcome anchor for his twisting and churning emotions. 

"Mr. McCall, surely you’re aware that killing another person is always wrong, even _if_ monsters existed," Mr. Whittemore said. "And that you’ve just admitted to trying to get Peter Hale killed not once, but twice. Both times you aided and abetted a murderer - because that’s what Kate Argent and Marcus Jacoby are - and did your former best friend enough harm to almost see him killed. At this point, I'm not sure what questions I can ask to help you avoid a long prison term." 

"Stiles tried to keep me from doing what I had to do. Again! I just wanted him to stay away!" Scott protested. "I couldn’t have known what hitting him would do! It’s not my fault he’s so weak." 

"I think this is enough," Judge O’Neill said, cutting Scott off. "In the interest of not letting you incriminate yourself further, this interrogation is herewith finished and will resume at a later point in the appropriate venue. Please return to your family. I’m taking fifteen minutes to deliberate the sentence for _this_ case." She stood and swiftly left the room. 

"What does that mean?" Derek asked with a frown. "Why did she stop him when he was just starting to admit everything?" 

"Because it’s not relevant to the case at hand," Stiles’ father explained. He sighed and shook his head slightly. "She’ll ask the prosecutor to open a new case, this time for Peter’s benefit, and Scott’ll be questioned about all of this when he stands trial." 

"And he _will_ stand trial for two murder attempts," Mr. Whittemore said quietly. "Stiles … I understand why you didn’t say anything about the first attempt on Peter’s life, but surely you know that you’d have done the whole community a disservice if it had been allowed to be swept under the rug." 

"I wanted to protect Melissa," Stiles whispered. Across from them, the poor woman was inconsolable, with no one to turn to for comfort. He positively itched to embrace her and hold her up, and maybe be held up in turn. "It’s so fucking unfair how Scott’s just throwing away her love for him. It’s like he doesn’t care how much it hurts her." 

"It’s obvious that he doesn’t," Peter said. "I’m sorry for your and her sake, but I can’t be sorry that The Failure will get what’s coming to him. In that sense, your good luck card certainly worked as expected." 

"Here," Mr. Whittemore offered Stiles a handkerchief and patted his shoulder. "It’ll all be fine. It might take time, but one day things will be okay again." 

They still had ten more minutes to go and so Stiles’ father got up to stretch his legs for a little while. Peter didn’t waste any time sliding into the man’s seat and offering Stiles a hand to hold underneath their table. 

"He’s right, sweetheart," he said in a low voice. "You’ll likely be furious for a long time, and some therapy might not be amiss, but eventually you’ll put The Failure’s betrayal behind you." 

"You’ve got us," Derek added even more quietly. "And Isaac, Erica, and Boyd." 

"And Lou," Stiles murmured, wiping his cheek with the back of his hand. He huffed. "I swear, that’s the last time that dumb arse makes me cry." 

They fell silent and watched the drama unfold on the other side of the room. Scott was agitatedly talking at his distraught mother - and it was _at_ , not to - while his father was ordering him repeatedly to shut up already. Mr. Clark kept out of that quietly raging argument, but he looked deeply unhappy, if not a little disturbed by the family dynamics. 

Stiles took his eyes off the frankly shameful display and glanced at Alan Deaton, the sole visitor to the adjudication. "I wonder what he’s even here for." 

Mr. Whittemore spared a short look as well. "I have no idea, but he possibly wants to offer his services in a social work capacity, should the judge go that way. It’s not unheard of, but I don’t see that happening in this case." 

A minute later Stiles’ father returned with four small bottles of water in his hands. He offered one to Melissa, who accepted it tearfully, and handed the rest to his own party. 

"I ran out of change so you’ll have to share," John said, "but I don’t think we’ll be here much longer anyway." 

At that moment the door to the judge’s backroom opened and the bailiff called the room to order. Stiles and Derek managed to sneak a few sips of water before Judge O’Neill called for quiet and resumed the session. 

"I’ll make this short and as painless as possible," she declared and flattened her papers. "After some deliberation, I’ve decided to forego the pleas because there just isn’t a sound basis for mitigating circumstances on the defendant’s side. To the contrary, it seems that there is an even uglier case waiting to be investigated, which will happen as soon as may be." 

"Your Honour, my client is labouring under severe mental stress and delusions," Mr. Clark interjected. "Surely allowances have to be made." 

Scott didn’t look happy at all to be called mentally ill, but instead of glaring at his lawyer, he was glaring at Stiles and Peter. 

Judge O’Neill nodded sharply. "They will be made - until it is time for Mr. McCall to face the consequences of his actions against Mr. Peter Hale. The consequences for his actions against Mr. Mieczyslaw Stilinski, namely stalking, menacing, coercion, and physical assault with nearly fatal injury, and the abduction of and the denial of assistance for Mr. John Stilinski, I’ve decided to first and foremost grant the Stilinski _and_ the Hale family the permanent restraining orders they’ve applied for. This means that no member of either family is to be approached in any way, form, or manner, ever again. Do you understand that, Mr. McCall? Every failure to adhere to these conditions will see you fined or even in jail for up to three months, depending on the severity of the violation." 

Scott ground his teeth and forced out, "Understood." 

"Thank god," Stiles blurted, only to clap his hands over his mouth and look at the judge with horror. "I’m so sorry, ma’am." 

"It’s quite alright," she said. "Furthermore I’ve decided that Mr. McCall is to remain in jail until his 18th birthday, although he’ll be serving his sentence in an open prison capacity once he’s been fitted with an ankle monitor. He’ll then be on probation until he turns twenty-one, or whenever those three years elapse after potentially serving any other prison sentences." 

Perhaps sensing how appalled Stiles’ father, Peter, and Mr. Whittemore were, Judge O’Neill explained, "This is not leniency. It seems like Mr. McCall is indeed labouring under a severe mental illness, which will have to be evaluated extensively before he can appear in court and receive the appropriate sentence. At this time, the prison medical staff is unfortunately booked solid due to the current influx of detainees, so we’ll have to move Mr. McCall to whichever private practice ends up accepting him. And since he is still a minor and his asthma is so severe, I’m not comfortable with sending him to another county where his parents can't easily reach him. This may change, of course, and will be subject to evaluation." 

That was deeply unfortunate, but Stiles couldn’t fault her for that. For all that he was a complete douchebag, Scott would need his mom’s support, and it could never be said that Beacon Hills didn’t try to take care of its own. 

"The areas in which he’ll be allowed to move will, of course, be made known to you and all the relevant offices," Judge O’Neill said to Mr. Whittemore. "Moreover, as the district attorney will press charges against Mr. McCall for at least complicity in two murder attempts, this decision hinges on whether he’ll be even allowed out on bail. The amount will have to be decided, but it definitely won’t be a trifle following this ruling." 

Stiles’ heart ached at the pallor in Melissa’s face, even as he felt a bone-deep relief at not having to endure Scott’s proximity once school started again. 

"Additionally, to ensure that Mr. McCall won’t have the time to violate the terms of his open prison sentence, he’ll serve community hours whenever he’s not with his doctors. He’ll also have a guard with him at all times since his parents cannot be expected to watch him around the clock." 

"My son does not deserve to have to post bail like a common criminal!" Rafe McCall said sharply. "If he’s mentally ill, he should be in a hospital! Or maybe Eichen House, they specialize in such cases, don’t they?" 

"I won’t make that call without a psychiatrist’s evaluation," Judge O’Neill returned evenly. "Now, Beacon Hill is not a large city, but there are three jobs Mr. McCall will do in the course of his community service. The first is the trash pick-up crew, the second is the prison’s laundry facility, and the third is the commercial kitchen down at Vagrant Fair. They always need more helping hands." 

Melissa raised her hand. "Ma’am, will those jobs be safe? His asthma ..." 

Judge O’Neill nodded. "We’ve considered his condition, of course. He’ll be allowed his inhaler, although he won’t be able to carry anything else while he’s out and about." She sighed. "That being said, your son won’t be coddled, Mrs. McCall. He did a terrible thing and needs to face the consequences of his ill-considered actions." 

"Yes, of course," Melissa murmured, shoulders slumping a little. 

"As to Mr. McCall not deserving having to post bail," and Judge O’Neill’s voice turned frosty, "if it were up to _me_ , Mr. McCall, he wouldn’t even be considered in the first place. With you being absent from your son’s life, Mr. McCall, I’d say there’s a certain flight risk apparent. Only your job with the FBI will probably nullify that concern. We shall see how that shakes out and I’ll thank you not to harass the court with your demands." 

Rafael reddened but remained silent. 

"Now, onto the recommendations. Both the Stilinskis and the Hales have suffered extensive trauma these past six months. While the Stilinski family is already getting help from a specialist, I’d also like to see the Hales in therapy to get through their issues. It is not a requirement, but now that we’ve got some Hales back in town, we’re invested in seeing them healthy, in addition to happy and content." 

Peter inclined his head. "We’ll consider it, Your Honour. Thank you." 

Judge O’Neill then, finally, zeroed in on Dr. Deaton. "Dr. Deaton, you wrote in your e-mail that you’d like to offer your veterinary practice as a location for Mr. McCall to fulfil his social work sentence. While generous, this court rejects the offer because it wouldn’t exactly be a punishment if Mr. McCall were allowed to do what he likes and considers a career option." 

Deaton inclined his head slightly. "I expected as much, but I wanted to make the offer. Mr. McCall is talented and not nurturing him seemed like a waste of potential." 

"Well, Mr. McCall will have to concern himself with legal proceedings in the foreseeable future. His career options will therefore have to be evaluated at a later date," Judge O’Neill replied. She banged her gavel. "I herewith close this adjudication. All the relevant paperwork will be sent to you promptly. Mr. Whittemore, you’ll receive a copy of your clients’ restraining order against Mr. McCall immediately. Please make sure your clients understand fully what it entails and how they should act in the case of a violation." 

"Certainly, Your Honour." Mr. Whittemore nodded at her. 

Judge O’Neill gathered her papers. Instead of heading out, however, she approached Mr. Whittemore's table and addressed Stiles. "You know, of course, that dropping this little bombshell on us will have consequences for you and whoever else was involved." 

Stiles flushed under her scrutiny. "I do. And I’m sorry. It’s just that _all_ of us were ready to forget about that night, even Peter. If Scott hadn’t lost his marbles after that, it wouldn’t have been such a big deal. Even if it _was_ bad, I’m not gonna lie. I just hoped to spare his mom more grief, you know." 

"That’s horrifying, young man," she admonished. Her voice was stern, but her voice belied some compassion. "No friendship is worth it to suffer such abuse." 

"No, ma’am," Stiles murmured. He glanced at his family and quite fiercely thought, _Except that, in some cases, it_ is. 

oOo

As promised, Mr. Whittemore invited the whole bunch to lunch and even asked whether it’d be alright to have Jackson join them when Isaac awaited them outside the restaurant with a defiant glower and mulishly crossed arms. 

Stiles and Derek both gave the unhappy boy a tight hug each and seconded Jackson’s inclusion without even thinking about protesting. 

"Thanks, boys. I’d ask my wife as well, but she’s in a meeting with her committee right now," Mr. Whittemore said gratefully. "I’ll have to bring her dessert to make up for it." 

They chose to sit inside to make them less of a target for prowling alphas, even though the weather was fantastic. It didn’t take Jackson long at all to make an appearance, which convinced Stiles that he’d been hanging around the courthouse in the hopes of being one of the first to learn about the outcome of Scott’s adjudication. 

"Hi." Jackson sat down next to his father and stared at Stiles, who sat between Isaac and Derek. "Well? How did it go?" 

"Jackson," his father chided. "I know that I didn’t raise you to be this way." 

Scoffing, Jackson replied, "That’s how Stiles and I are talking with each other." 

"By pressing the thumb in the wound," Stiles agreed wryly. "It’s alright. Derek and I will get coddled by Erica later." He gave Jackson a summary of the ruling and closed with, "He'll have to spend the whole summer working for the community, which probably sucks more than having to sleep in jail." 

Jackson frowned. "It doesn’t sound like enough, but at least McCall definitely won’t annoy us at school anymore." 

"The judge only sentenced McCall for what he did to Stiles and his father. There’ll be a trial for the whole business with Peter," Mr. Whittemore explained. "It’ll probably get ugly, and now that I know that you were at the scene in February, you’ll get called into the witness stand." 

"Crap." Jackson huffed. "But okay. Anything to keep McCall far away from us." 

"Why, though? He didn’t even do anything to you," Isaac said snidely. 

"He still sucks, so good riddance," Jackson retorted and shrugged off his father’s scolding. 

"We’ll sit down and agree on a story later," Peter offered the boy, "and try to keep you out of it as much as possible. If it’s all of our word against The Failure’s, he won’t be believed about the supernatural." 

Jackson eyed him suspiciously. "Stiles said that it is too late for keeping me out of those alpha douches’ way, what with dad working with you." 

"The alphas are a problem that we hope to solve soon," Peter answered smoothly. 

A waiter finally appeared and handed out menus. For a couple of minutes, they all ordered drinks and appetizers like they were just a normal bunch of people having lunch in the most exclusive Italian restaurant in town, but as soon as they were alone again, the menus were forgotten.

"How are you gonna do that?" Jackson demanded like there hadn’t been an interruption at all. "Are you gonna kill them?" 

"Jackson," Mr. Whittemore hissed. "Lower at least your voice, if you can’t refrain from sticking your nose where it isn’t needed." 

"It’s a valid question," Stiles’ father said, surprising not just Mr. Whittemore. "He’s worried for you and himself, that’s understandable. Right now we’re in the defence since we neither know where they are, nor what they want, exactly. We don’t even really know who belongs to that pack. All we know is that they’re confrontational and likely out for blood. This means that the werewolves are ready to defend themselves and others with lethal force if it becomes necessary." 

"But we’ll try and find a way to boot them out of the territory before things get ugly," Stiles added. He raised his eyebrows at Jackson. "We still need several dozens of painted rocks, in case you wanna make yourself useful." 

"Painted rocks," Jackson repeated, incredulous. "What the hell for?" 

Stiles was unwilling to talk about it where they could be overheard and chose to write out his plan in a text message instead. 

Jackson’s derisive frown wasn’t encouraging, but after finishing reading and giving an even more derisive snort he surprisingly said, "Fine. How about tomorrow morning? I’ve got some time before Lydia and I are going on our date." 

"I’ll text you the address," Stiles said, once he was assured of Peter’s agreement. To entice Jackson further, he tacked on, "There’ll be breakfast. I’m getting really good at that." 

"It’s the least you can do for pressing me into slave labour," Jackson said snottily, and the topic was abandoned. 

**End of chapter 56**


	57. Chapter 57

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I'm so sorry. I was really sick these last ten days and had a horrible cough and literally no voice at all. I simply didn't have any energy for writing, and while I finally managed to catch up today, it might be pretty crappy. Sorry in advance. 
> 
> Still, I hope you all had a Merry Christmas! Please stay safe so you and your loved ones can greet the new year with as much pomp and circumstance as the situation allows.

**Chapter 57**

That afternoon, Stiles stepped foot into Derek’s new den for the first time. It was monumental, somehow, that he was being invited inside and given the best of the four mismatched chairs around Derek’s ebony dining table. Isaac had stayed upstairs to let them have their alone time. 

“Dude, this is loads better than squatting in a ruin,” Stiles told him.

Wide-eyed, he looked around and took in the relative emptiness of the room and the one large and rather dramatic art print on the rough wall. The whole place was very industrial chic, but it fit Derek’s personality better than he’d have expected. It helped that the ruggedness of the walls and floor was contrasted by a soft, purple blanket on the brown, square leather sofa, and a fluffy white rug in the middle of the room, as well as several large planters beneath the windows, where small shoots were busy growing in the sunlight.

“I love the not so mini garden! What are you growing? Wolfsbane or herbs?” 

“Herbs, for now, to get back into the groove. I thought I’d buy an entertainment system once the shop’s doing well enough to pay me,” Derek commented as he placed a glass of lemonade in front of Stiles. “It’s my reward for all of us doing well, so don’t nag about crappy TV sound.” 

“I dig that, and it’ll look great in here, once you have it,” Stiles said and grinned. “Man, what are you gonna do with all the leftover space? Build a home gym?” 

Derek sat and folded his hands. “Funny you should ask because that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” 

“Oh.” Stiles turned his full attention on him and frowned. “Is something wrong? Peter giving you a hard time? Is he making you pay rent or something?” 

“No, nothing like that.” Derek sighed but held Stiles’ gaze. “I’m bad at this stuff, but … I just wanted to let you know that you have a place here. With me. In case you ever need to not go to Peter’s, for some reason. Or even without any reason at all.” 

Stiles’ mouth dropped open. “Seriously?” 

“Yes. You gave me a safe place in your home to retreat,” Derek said quietly. “I want to do the same for you. It’s nothing grand, not yet, but it has a bed and a walk-in cupboard for your things. You’ll have to tell me what linens you prefer and whether you’d like carpeting or just a rug or whatever. We can do the shopping together.” 

Nearly vibrating out of his skin despite feeling a little stunned, Stiles said, “Thank you. Can I hug you? This is a hug-worthy occasion, right?” 

Derek smiled crookedly. “If you like.” 

Stiles left his seat and attacked the werewolf with a full-body hug that Lou energetically joined the moment they touched. He shot from Stiles’ arms to around Derek’s neck and his ribcage and transferred Stiles’ happy vibes like a live wire. 

“It’s kind of weird how _open_ he is about his feelings,” Derek commented, face smushed against Stiles’ shoulder. He patted Stiles’ back, where Lou was wriggling excitedly. 

“Is that bad?” Stiles asked and let up a little. 

“No.” Derek slowly loosened his hold as well and stared at Stiles. “It’s a welcome change of pace.” 

Grateful, Stiles grinned. “Alright. So, since we’re exchanging gifts anyway, I thought it was high time I replaced your bracelet. I brought a few so you can choose the one you like best, and this time I’ve made it impervious to stinky and icky things.” 

“I liked the one you made me,” Derek replied. “Can’t you try to salvage it?” 

I’m not that far along with the magic yet,” Stiles admitted, “but if you still have it you could hold on to it until I am. I’ll certainly do my best.” 

“Okay.” 

Stiles produced the half dozen bracelets he’d thought Derek might like and placed them on the table. They all were of dark colour so people wouldn’t immediately notice them, but Stiles had gone to some effort to spruce them up with semi-precious stones and brass pearls. 

In just a moment, Derek picked a black genuine leather armband that Stiles had enhanced with a string of black dried tree seed pearls and a stainless steel platelet. The outer side of the platelet was smooth, but Stiles had engraved a bind rune on the inner side that made Derek’s eyes light up blue when he rubbed it with his thumb. 

“This one,” Derek said with conviction. “It feels strong. What did you put on it?” 

“Protection against physical harm, both for you _and_ the bracelet, something for stealth - that reminds me to give the heavy-duty stealth charm to you all - and of course something to boost your energy, for when you’re running around the preserve like a crazy person.” 

“It’s called patrols,” Derek said dryly. “And it needs to be done.” 

“Even so.” Stiles shrugged and grinned. “I had a feeling you’d choose this one, but whenever you think of something else you might need, just let me know and I’ll add to it. The stainless steel is pretty good for holding and channelling magic and I left room for more runes on purpose.” 

“I will. Thank you.” Derek allowed Stiles to put the bracelet on and then took a moment to admire it. “It’s still hard to wrap my head around the fact that you can do this.” 

Stiles could relate. “Yeah, sometimes I have to pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming. Magic is _so_ cool. And speaking of which, have you tried using runes yet? I’d like nothing better than for you to be able to protect yourself against those alpha douche invaders.” 

“Not yet,” Derek admitted, “but it’s on the agenda. Maybe you can try with Isaac tonight since he’ll be staying at yours anyway.” 

“We will. You can try it here and report how that works for you,” Stiles decided. “I won’t always be close, so I need to know what the maximum distance is, anyway.” He drank down his lemonade and sighed with satisfaction. “Can I see my room now? And can I bet what colours you’ve chosen? If I’m wrong I’ll spring for your favourite diner menu.” 

Instead of an answer, Derek snagged him around the neck and dragged him towards the closed door, but the connection between was bright with humour and affection. 

As Stiles was admiring the sparse but upscale dark furniture and steel blue bedding, he thought that despite the unpleasantness that had been Scott’s adjudication the day had turned out pretty great after all. 

oOo

Stiles’ father would be gone until the early hours of the morning to support his team which allowed Stiles and Isaac to do their testing in the living room instead of in Stiles’ smaller bedroom. 

“You know, even if this using your magic thing actually works, how will your dad get away with drawing on the lobster guys?” Isaac asked as he twirled a chalk marker around his fingers. “Isn’t that unethical?” 

“It’s unethical as all hell,” Stiles replied, “and we have decided that we don’t really care. Dad thought that he could use a stamp with washable ink or something. That’s quick and easy.” 

“But what if those dudes complain to someone? I know I wouldn’t like to be stamped with some occult symbol.” 

“We’ll find a solution,” Stiles said. “And even if it’s not doable for my dad’s work, it’s still dead useful anywhere else. So, you’ve got your plastic mat and a glass of cider and your marker. This here is the most important rune for protection.” He demonstrated on his own arm. 

Isaac sniffed. “Looks like a bird’s foot.” 

“Yeah, that’s algiz for you. If you paint it at the four cardinal points, it’ll offer whatever’s within the circle at least some basic protection.” Stiles handed Isaac a pink chalk marker. “Try it. Just remember that you’re doing it in my stead. I guess the real task will be to always know where North is because this stuff works way better if the cardinal points are aligned with the runes.” 

“I’m pretty good at that,” Isaac murmured as he drew four runes on the black mat. “There, one glass of cider inside a protective circle. And now?” 

“Now you try to get it,” Stiles quipped. 

Isaac pursed his lips and hesitated. “The runes won’t zap me, will they?” When Stiles smirked, he huffed. “Come on!” 

“They won’t zap you,” Stiles said. “They’re just supposed to keep everyone away from the cider.” 

Sighing, Isaac reached out and started badly when his fingers glanced off an invisible barrier. Like he couldn’t help himself his eyes lit up and all five claws popped from his fingers. “Wow!” 

“Amazing!” Stiles crowed. “Try again, but this time I’ll film it. Hold on …” He snagged the digicam, activated it, and scooted back far enough to get Isaac completely in the frame. “Okay, ready when you are.” 

“Do I have to?” Isaac whined. “That felt weird.” 

“It’s for science,” Stiles wheedled. “Come on. Show us what your runes can do!” 

The reminder that _Isaac_ had managed to draw a protective circle did the trick; the werewolf reached for the glass of cool cider again and allowed the magic to force his appearance to change in response. 

“That feels really, really strange,” Isaac growled through his fangs. He blinked away his amber eyes. “Amazing. Let’s call Derek and ask how he’s doing.” 

They did just that and learned that the same had happened for Derek - and that the man was now grumpy as all hell because his beer was trapped inside of the circle. 

Stiles couldn’t help but laugh. “I guess I forgot to mention that you can obsolete your runes as well if you no longer need them. Just wipe one of them away, Derek.” 

A second later Derek reported in a rough, quiet voice, “It worked. Stiles, that’s … I have no words. This is _huge_. You have no idea.” 

“I probably don’t, no,” Stiles answered just as quietly. “We’ll have to train this ... _a lot_. Just because it works now doesn’t mean it’ll work well when you’re under attack. We definitely need a plan for that.” 

“You’re right,” Derek agreed. “I’ll let Peter know. He’ll probably have some ideas.” 

“Where is he, anyway?” Stiles asked. “I thought he’d want to stay close today.” 

“He caught a whiff of a strange wolf and decided to investigate. He’s got your stealth charm with him so it’ll probably be okay.” Derek paused. “I’m worried about him.” 

“I texted to tell him that the rune thing works,” Isaac offered. “If things go FUBAR, he can at least protect himself.” 

“Speaking of protection, I still have to enhance my dad’s gun with some magic,” Stiles said. “The work just never ends.” 

“It’s on the list,” Isaac promised. “Plus, one of us can do it now. We need you to work on the ward stones, Stiles. It sounds shitty, but that’s way more important right now.” 

“Yeah, I know. It’s a good thing I could convince Jackson and Lydia to help. Say, can I raid Peter’s fridge tomorrow? I might have to feed them before they begin to paint.” 

Derek said, “I’ll go shopping and ask Erica and Boyd whether they’d like to eat with us. Nine okay?” 

“Nine is perfect. Thanks, Derek.” Stiles ended the call and leaned back on his hands. “With Jackson and Lydia there, we should try to do as many ward stones as we can. The more, the better. My dad will be grumpy about having to deal with so many stones, but it’ll be worth it.” 

“I understand, but I thought two-hundred or thereabouts was enough?” Isaac asked. 

Stiles scowled. “That was before those alpha douchebags invaded Beacon Hills and brought a fucking magic user with them.” He splayed his fingers and showed Isaac the claws Lou was forming in his agitation. “I don’t like it, but _Lou_ is really annoyed about that.” 

“Yeah, I get that,” Isaac admitted. He rubbed his upper arms. “I feel … dirty.” 

“Even worse, Derek thinks that those assholes might try something at Jackson’s party on Saturday,” Stiles continued. “I have no idea how to protect all the people going to the Jungle.” 

“What about a mountain ash line?” Isaac asked. “The weather forecast didn’t say anything about rain, and even if people trample all over it, you could just make it whole again.” 

“All night long when I’m supposed to spend at least an hour inside and keep my eyes open?” Stiles bit his lip. “I’m not sure I’m good enough for this type of situation.” 

“Yet,” Isaac said loyally. “You’re doing some pretty amazing stuff already. You just need practice. I know it.” 

Stiles smiled wanly. “Thanks, dude. That won’t help us on Saturday, though. So, ideas?” 

Isaac pursed his lips in thought and twirled his chalk marker between his fingers. The movement was so hypnotic that Stiles jumped when Isaac suddenly caught the marker in his fist and snapped the fingers of his free hand. “We’re so dumb!” 

“What, why?” Stiles protested. 

“Dude, what have we been working on all week already?” Isaac asked, one eyebrow raised meaningfully. 

Stiles stared at him uncomprehendingly for a second. Then he slapped a hand to his forehead. “Oh my god. We _are_ dumb.” 

“You’ll make Jackson work for it, right?” 

“Oh, you can bet your fluffy hair on that,” Stiles replied. 

They shared a broad, slightly evil grin. 

oOo

The next morning, the pack plus Erica and Boyd had already enjoyed breakfast in Peter’s apartment when Jackson announced his and Lydia’s presence via text. 

“They’re late,” Peter remarked and set down his empty latte glass. “Are you sure you’ll be able to pull off your project?” 

Stiles handed the half dozen stacked plates from the table to Isaac, who took them to the dishwasher. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure. You go and do whatever you have to do to finally get your life back.” 

“Well, the insurance company certainly is on my side, even if the doctors would love to dissect me,” Peter said with a smirk. “Somehow the thought of finally being able to finalize my rather extensive medical payments has them all atwitter. With a bit of luck, everything will be settled today.” 

Without comment, Stiles pulled a good luck card from his shirt’s breast pocket and held it out to the man. 

Peter’s grin widened as he let his fingers brush against Stiles' in a deliberate tease. “Thank you, sweetheart. Now I can be sure that things will come to a favourable conclusion today.” 

He got up and made a point of scenting each of his pack and family while saying his goodbyes. Erica blushed and giggled at Peter pretending to kiss her knuckles and even Boyd seemed amenable to the werewolf’s offered handshake when Stiles would’ve bet money on him being pissed at Peter’s smarmy little display. 

“I know what you’re thinking,” Boyd told Stiles when Peter was gone from the apartment a minute later. 

“You do?” Stiles asked, surprised. 

Boyd shrugged. “He might enjoy fucking with people, but not like this.” 

“Does he call you sweetheart often?” Erica cackled and fanned herself. “Because that was _amazing_. It’s getting hot in here!” 

Stiles flushed. “My dad begs to differ. Uhm, I’m gonna let Jackson and Lydia into the workshop, so if you could help Derek and Isaac with the clean-up? Just bring down the tray over there when you’re done.” 

“Sure thing, Batman,” Erica said. 

Face still flaming uncomfortably, Stiles thanked his friends and then clattered down the stairs to the floor below. Jackson and Lydia were already waiting, both dressed in perfectly pressed clothes. 

“Oh my god, are you serious,” Stiles blurted out. He unlocked the workshop and waved the two other teens inside. “We’re gonna work with paint and you come dressed like this?” 

“I don’t plan on getting into a splatter fight,” Jackson countered, narrowing his eyes. “But if one of your doofus friends gets me dirty, they’ll pay for the dry cleaner’s.” 

“And I don’t plan on painting rocks at all,” Lydia announced with a little sniff. “I’m just here because Jackson didn’t want to come alone into the wolves’ den.” 

“We’ll see about that,” Stiles retorted. “But first, sit. Breakfast is waffles, scrambled eggs and fruit salad, in case you’re hungry. We have a great coffee maker, but you can also have tea, juice or water. Also, it’s my turn to pick the music, so no complaining.” 

Lydia eschewed the idea of breakfast, but Jackson went to get a plate once Derek had brought the tray in. While he was eating and sipping his coffee, Erica, Isaac, and Boyd sat down at the other end of the long table and got ready for work. Each of them took five fresh stones and laid out an equal number for Jackson and Lydia. 

“You weren't having me on, you’re really painting rocks,” Jackson said, taking in the many colourful rocks resting on the racks. “Are those _dicks_?” 

“Erica is a little shit,” Stiles informed him and smirked at Lydia’s raised eyebrow. “So this is the deal: I know that I said that we need help with the ward stones for Beacon Hills, and we do, but your party tomorrow is more important.” 

“My party?” Jackson stopped chewing and stared at Stiles. “What does that have to do with anything?” 

Lydia sighed. “Isn’t it obvious?” 

“No, it really isn’t.” 

“Look, my dense friend, it’s easier to lay out ward stones around the Jungle than having people watch out for you and the guests all night,” Stiles explained. “We could take two or three dozens of the ones we’ve already finished, but I’ve decided that a large set of portable outdoor ward stones is a really fucking great thing to have, so that’s what we’re gonna do today. Also, they’re gonna be better if you’re involved in the production since they’re supposed to protect you.” 

“We’re gonna paint portable ward stones,” Jackson repeated, looking at Stiles like he was crazy. “ _All_ of those stones are portable!” 

“Reusable, then. The ward stones for Beacon Hills will be hidden once we’re done with them,” Isaac interjected. “We don’t want people to find them and take them away.” 

“But we can’t bury them in the city,” Erica continued. “Even if we hide them well, someone might find one or more of them.” 

“So that’s why each of you has five stones,” Lydia surmised. “So there’ll be extras in case one or more stones get lost tomorrow night.” 

“Yeah, exactly,” Isaac said. “We don’t care that you don’t really believe us-” 

“Yet,” Derek said quietly, but firmly. 

“-but you’ll pull your weight if you’re asking for favours,” Isaac finished. “Five stones isn’t much at all, that’ll be done in two hours, tops.” 

Jackson stared at them for a bit longer, only to shrug and shovel the last bite of his eggs into his mouth. “Fine. Are you staying, Lyds? You’re pretty good at drawing and the more we are, the quicker I can get out of here.” 

She didn’t look enthusiastic, but after a moment of consideration, Lydia inclined her head and said, “Someone pass me a couple of brushes and the metallic sage colour.” 

“Good choice. Those heathens have almost used up the neon colours anyway,” Stiles told her and handed the items over. “Time to get some class in here.” 

**End of chapter 57**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case I won't get to post again before January, thank you for reading this story and being so invested in the shenanigans our unicorns get up to! You were with me from day one and I hope you'll stay until I reach the end of this story. You're the best! <3


	58. Chapter 58

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually managed another chapter, yay, and fair warning, it ends with a cliffhanger. ;) 
> 
> Have a great New Year's Eve, everyone!

**Chapter 58**

To Stiles’ surprise and pleasure, he and Isaac were actually able to finish the reusable ward stones on Saturday afternoon. That included getting Peter, the sheriff, _and_ Jackson’s dad to add a small bit of paint to each of the stones before sealing them with a thick layer of varnish. 

“They’re looking good,” Isaac said as they stood before the table where the stones were waiting to be picked up. “I dig how colourful they are.” 

“Me too,” Stiles agreed. “I know we added the stealth rune but I’m still worried that we’ll lose some of them.” 

Isaac brushed his shoulder against Stiles’ in a show of support. “Don’t be. Peter said his stealth rune works great. Plus, I actually believe that you’d find any that got stolen.” 

“That’s a little weird, isn’t it?” Stiles mumbled. He rubbed his index finger over a blue and silver bird Lydia had painted onto one of her stones. “This … this attachment to stuff I've worked on is new.” 

“But not really surprising,” Isaac replied. “Think about it. You don’t want to lose them, so your magic is taking care of that.” He glanced at his watch. “We have a few more hours until we need to get going. Do you wanna play Mario Kart or something?” 

Stiles did and for an hour or so they harassed each other virtually while shouting obscenities. 

Around seven, however, Jackson called to tell them that people would begin to arrive soon. 

“Some of my friends are assholes and decided to predrink since my mom banned hard alcohol from the Jungle,” Jackson explained grumpily. “They’re on their way already. Can you come a bit earlier to do your ward stone stuff? They're dumb, but I don't want to see them mauled by crazy werewolves.” 

Isaac rolled his eyes but put down his controller. “We’re on our way.” 

“I saved you a good space in the underground garage,” Jackson said. “Just drive in, you’ll see me there.” 

Stiles shrugged when Jackson hung up on them without a goodbye. “He’s an asshole, but it’s nice outside. We could grab burgers when we’re done and get inside later. With the ward stones, things should be just fine.” 

“I’ll call Derek and Peter.” 

While Isaac informed the two werewolves, Stiles carefully placed the stones into a padded bag and made sure to touch the runes on each of them one last time. 

_It’ll work_ , he thought fiercely, _because it has to. There won’t be any casualties on my watch!_

A minute later he and Isaac were on the way, Derek following in his Camaro. 

oOo

“Wow, you really saved us a great spot,” Stiles remarked after parking his Jeep right behind the entrance. “We can just slip out and do our thing.” 

“I’ll help, just tell me where to put those things,” Jackson said. “I’m guessing you want to cover the whole block?” 

“Yeah, that’s easiest.” Stiles placed the bag on the hood of Derek’s car and opened the zipper. “We’re four, so each of us takes a quadrant. Try to space them evenly, but don’t sweat it if it doesn’t work out perfectly. You can begin right here, Jackson, Isaac will go in the opposite direction, and Derek and I will shadow you until we get to our own quadrant. Cool?” 

“Not cool,” a female voice called out. 

Stiles whirled around. There, in the sunlit gateway to the underground garage, stood five people, four tall men and one woman. 

The woman stepped forward, her lips twisted into a cruel grin. “How mean of you to deny us some fun, little wizard. I think we’d better break up this little conspiracy before it goes any further. All in favour, raise your hand.” 

All five of them raised their clawed hands and their eyes began to glow red. 

“Fuck off,” Isaac growled, shifting in front of Stiles and Jackson. “You’ll regret coming here, intruders.” 

“I don’t think so,” the woman purred. “We’re five alphas and you’re but two measly betas and two even more measly humans.” 

With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Stiles noticed the claws on her bare feet. Still, he had a job to do and that meant dialling his father and buying time. “They might be betas, but that doesn’t mean they’re weak. Also, there’s me.” 

“Ah, yes. _You_. And who might you be?” The woman stepped a little closer, head slightly tilted so that her long, dark hair was falling over her shoulder. She would’ve been attractive if she hadn’t been so utterly evil. “You smell like magic, little lamb, but I don’t think that you can defeat us. You’re so young and weak. Our source told us and she's never wrong.” 

“Stop playing, Kali,” the oldest man of the group chided. He wore large sunglasses and held a blind man's stick in his hands. His disability obviously didn’t make him any less dangerous than the other alphas. “Let’s use this opportunity to decimate Hale’s pack before we get some unwanted attention.” 

“So your name’s Kali?” Stiles babbled. “Interesting name for an interesting lady. And hey, look at that! You’ve got twins in your little group of murderers! Can I guess their names? It’s Thing 1 and Thing 2, right? I mean, just look at those vacant faces, it really can’t be anything else.” 

The twins growled loudly and simultaneously sprouted fangs and fur. 

“Holy fuck,” Jackson, who’d gone deathly pale, warbled. 

“And that huge dude looks like a rip-off Hulk,” Stiles continued. “Maybe his name is Hugh Manner or something? Wouldn’t that be a hoot?” 

“That’s Ennis,” Derek said quietly. “He’s the one that bit Paige.” 

Stiles froze. “What?” 

“And the one with the sunglasses,” Derek went on, “is Deucalion. He was here seven years ago to finalize that treaty with my mother and the Argents.” 

“He’s the one who got blinded,” Stiles breathed. “Well, fuck.” 

Deucalion showed his teeth in a terrifying smile. “Since we’re already known, let me introduce the rest of my pack. The twins are called Aiden and Ethan, not that you’ll gain any sort of advantage by knowing this. You’ll all die in a moment, but if you’re good little pups we’ll make it painless.” 

Kali made a scoffing noise. 

“Relatively,” Deucalion amended, his smile never wavering. “Ennis, please lock up. We don’t need people messing up our business.” 

The huge guy promptly turned and lumbered off to manually let down the gates. As they rolled down, Kali and the twins came closer, their murderous intent clear on their faces. 

“Hands away from the stones,” Kali demanded, eyes aglow with feverish hunger. “You’ll only prolong the inevitable.” 

“Yeah, no, forget it,” Stiles retorted. He’d never been so grateful for the bags of mountain ash he’d packed in a fit of paranoia, or the chalk markers he’d forced on all of his friends. “We’re gonna stay right here, snug like a bug, behind a barrier you can’t breach. The police will be here soon, too.” He raised his phone and wiggled it a little. “What with the sheriff on the line and our alpha on his way and everything.” 

Kali cursed and the twins glanced at Deucalion before returning their attention to the four young men. 

“It’s no matter,” Deucalion decided. “Killing you won’t be a challenge and the fallout is of no interest to me. Do it.” 

Kali shot forward, only to be intercepted by Derek mid-air. Snarling and growling they went down in a tangle of limbs. Kali’s claws slashed Derek’s shirt and pecs, while Derek’s unconventional and brutal rip on Kali’s hair nearly broke her neck, not to mention cost her half the length of her mane. The strength of his retaliation caused Kali to retreat and scream in fury. 

“Damn, he’s good,” Jackson said roughly, still white as a sheet. His fingers grappled for a hold, any hold, on Stiles, and settled on the side of his T-shirt. 

‘“He is,” Stiles replied, a fierce explosion of pride warming his chest. Only a second later, the two werewolves were at it again and clothes, skin, and blood went flying. 

Derek’s sacrifice allowed Stiles to drop half a dozen stones around himself, Jackson, and Isaac, although Isaac was already itching to help their friend. Since there was no holding him back, Stiles uncapped his marker and scrawled a series of hot pink runes onto Isaac’s arm before sending him off with a small tap. He did the same to Jackson and finally himself and even squatted down to paint more onto the concrete floor. 

Isaac taunted the twins with exceptionally rude language and promptly vanished into the depths of the parking garage, the two alphas hot on his heels. 

“Lahey will get himself killed,” Jackson muttered and licked the sweat from his upper lip. “And we’re sitting ducks with those two scary dudes standing right there.” 

“Quite right, Mr. Whittemore,” Deucalion drawled. His grin never wavered. “Don’t take it personally that Ennis will be flushing you out now. We’re on a tight schedule, after all.” 

“Flush us how?” Stiles retorted snippily - and regretted it almost immediately. 

The twins might have left but apparently Ennis was strong enough all by himself to heft a motorcycle he’d brought back from his short stroll to the gates and throw it right at them. 

“Holy shit!” Stiles screamed. He and Jackson ducked as the bike crashed violently against the Jeep. Glass and small plastic parts rained down on their heads and the jerking car body touched them more than once. Wedged as they were between the Jeep and the Camaro, they didn’t have any space to evade. 

“You might be protected against werewolves, Mr. Stilinski, but it appears that mundane objects are more than adequate to the task of maiming you,” Deucalion called smugly. “Ennis has one more. Shall we bet on the accuracy of his aim? Maybe your father wishes to join that bet?” 

“No, thanks!” Stiles yelled and stabbed the red button on his phone’s screen. Whatever happened now, his dad didn't need to witness it firsthand.

“We need to move!” Jackson hissed. Both his hands clenched tightly around Stiles’ biceps. “Even if he misses, he might push Hale’s car against your junk car and squish us!” 

“I don’t miss!” Ennis grunted. He heaved up another bike, easily avoided Derek’s desperate lunge for his side, and threw it right at the boys. 

Stiles saw it coming in slow motion and only had a second to decide what to do. Jackson was no help - couldn’t be, in all fairness - and so he did the only thing he still had available. 

He yanked a handful of mountain ash from his pocket and threw it at the motorcycle with all of his might. In the back of his mind, Lou howled with rage. 

The effect was spectacular. 

As if hit by a giant battledore, the bike bounced back in a physics-defying manoeuvre, right into Ennis, and flung the behemoth of a man so far back that he almost crashed into the closed gates. The sickening sound of metal hitting flesh and bone was far too loud but even louder were the pained and infuriated shouts of the werewolf. They certainly drowned out Derek and Kali’s vicious growling and snarling. 

Stiles didn’t feel an ounce of remorse. Instead, he recalled the ash and it obediently rushed back and joined the writhing mass on Stiles’ body. 

“Holy fuck, what was that?” Jackson demanded. 

“Come!” Stiles yelled and dragged the shocky teen with him. With his free hand, he grabbed the bag with the ward stones. Deucalion didn’t move, which was somehow worse than having him pursue them, but Stiles didn’t waste more than a second's thought on that. 

As fast as their legs would carry them they sought refuge in the bowels of the garage. One flight down, then two, Ennis and Kali’s angry snarls always behind them. Derek did his best to impede her and Ennis’ progress, but he was no match for Ennis’ brute strength. 

“Take cover!” Derek shouted and jumped onto Kali’s back. Unfortunately, she turned in a split second and backhanded him so hard that he slammed into a wall. The alarm of the car he dropped into began to wail loudly and obnoxiously.

Cursing up a blue streak, Stiles shoved Jackson down another ramp, only to curse even more when they nearly ran into the twins, who were ganging up on Isaac. 

“Hey, you motherfuckers!” Stiles screamed. “You too dumb to off one little beta?” 

Isaac sprinted off as soon as the twins’ attention wavered. One followed, but the other turned to Stiles and Jackson and grinned unpleasantly. 

“You’ve got balls for a puny human,” he said mockingly. His gaze raked over Jackson. “I thought the pretty boy next to you had more fire in him.” 

Stiles fervently wished for his baseball bat. Instead, he threw a bit of mountain ash at the alpha and trapped him in a circle. “How about shutting your mouth, loser.” 

“No!” the twin howled. “Aiden! He’s got me!” 

From a level below, a roar sounded, followed by another roar of that same voice, this time definitely pain-filled. The delay in Aiden’s return caused his twin to howl even louder in his impatience. 

_Seems like Isaac is really holding his own_ , Stiles thought as he shoved Jackson away from the werewolf and into a dark niche around the corner, hot satisfaction burning in his gut. _Good!_ Hastily he laid out a ring of ward stones around himself and Jackson. “You stay in here,” he ordered. 

“What about you?” Jackson hissed. 

“I need to help,” Stiles hissed back. “If I can trap more of them, I need to do it now, before they actually manage to kill one of us!” 

Jackson tried to grab Stiles’ arm. “You can’t leave! That’s suicide!” 

“They’re my friends.” Stiles yanked his wrist from Jackson’s grasp and left their dark corner. “Stay here! I mean it!” 

He had only been gone for a minute, two at the most, but in that time everything had gone to shit. Kali and Ennis had reached their trapped fellow alpha, and they were holding a badly injured Derek hostage between them. 

“Release him,” Kali demanded, “and I’ll make his death swift. If you don’t, he’ll _suffer_.” She had her claws deep in Derek’s neck and shook him like a rat. 

Stiles’ heart was in his throat even as Lou’s fury radiated hotly and implacably all over his body. “I’ll let your friend go if you release Derek. While he’s _alive_.” 

Kali laughed shrilly. “In your dreams, human!” 

The rage seeped from Stiles’ skin into his very being. The line that separated him from the wolf spirit blurred and for the first time since their permanent joining, he truly felt like they had one purpose. 

_Save pack!_ , the spirit howled in his mind, eerie and relentless. _Save him!_

_I will_ , Stiles replied, winding his self around Lou’s agitatedly wandering impression in his mind. We _will_. 

Just then, chaos descended. A huge black creature appeared silently behind Ennis, giving no one but Stiles a split second to appreciate his horrifying snarl, before attacking with finger long claws to the back and a bite to the shoulder that probably would’ve torn a human to shreds. 

Ennis’ shrill yowl alerted Kali to the monster in their midst, and while Peter was very efficient in subduing Ennis, one frantic kick of the man’s shoe sole caused the mountain ash barrier to break. 

In a flash, Ethan was out and attacking Peter. 

Instead of helping him, Kali viciously threw Derek away from the fight. Blood was bubbling from the deep gouges in his neck and he was desperately gasping for air. 

For help. 

Without conscious thought, Stiles gave his body over to Lou to do what needed to be done to save their friend. There was a sensation like stretching too far for a moment, of _something_ in him leaving his body. 

Then, his eyes caught up. Awed, he saw a long, thick bolt of mountain ash shoot from his flung out hand. In a flash, it formed a huge hand with three inches long claws, and that hand buried itself like a live bear trap in Kali’s neck. The impact was horrifying, every last nerve in Stiles’ body tingling with the odd sensation. Even worse, the pure _satisfaction_ that followed threatened to swallow him whole. 

A rush of light and colour and _strength_ slammed into Stiles and he couldn’t help but roar to let off at least a little of that unbearable, all-consuming power. 

With a snap, it was over, and with another snap, all of his mountain ash was back on his body and forming two gloves with nasty claws. 

“Holy fuck!” the twin screamed as Kali’s head fell from her crumpling body and rolled over to where he was facing off against Peter. Blood was gushing everywhere like one saw in the cheapest of horror movies and rapidly formed a lake on the concrete. Ethan disengaged from Peter’s monstrous bulk and backed up, red eyes wide and horrified, but the horror wasn’t for Peter. 

It was for _Stiles_. 

Stiles was certain that he’d never, ever get that visual out of his mind. 

Ennis had somehow managed to crawl away from the fight, but his whole torso looked mangled beyond repair. “Deucalion!” he cried, spitting blood. “Help!” 

“Too late,” Peter rumbled and grinned terrifyingly with his wolf snout. “Two dead alphas are better than one.” 

“Don’t be too hasty,” Deucalion’s cultured voice called out. 

Stiles whirled around - and moaned in terror. There, almost dangling in Deucalion’s grip, was a barely conscious Jackson. And from the other side, Aidan was back, holding a bloody and bruised Isaac in a similar grip. 

“Seems like we have a bit of a stalemate,” Deucalion went on. For a moment his face darkened and the depth of his displeasure was clearly visible. “You killed one of mine, so I’ll have to kill one of yours.” 

“Mine is as good as dead,” Aiden crowed and shook Isaac so roughly that the teen cried out as his broken bones were jostled. 

“Mmh, tempting, but I think we need to replace our lost comrade first and foremost.” 

Before anyone could make sense of that statement, Deucalion had already bent down and sliced Jackson’s shoulder with his wolf teeth. 

**End of chapter 58**


	59. Chapter 59

**Chapter 59**

The howl Jackson let out was more than just pain; Stiles felt the anguish about having that choice taken away from him like his own. 

“You bastard!” he snarled. With a flick of his wrist, his mountain ash shot towards Deucalion and wound around the werewolf’s neck like a garotte before he could react. 

“Wha-” the man snarled, only to gasp and choke at the sudden pressure. To claw at his neck he had to let go of Jackson and the teen had the presence of mind to seek shelter behind a huge city van immediately, despite still being half out of his mind. “Let go!” 

Stiles’ eyes were burning with furious tears as he willed the ash to squeeze tighter. “I don’t think so, you asshole.” 

Suddenly every wolf perked up. A moment later Stiles could hear the wailing police sirens outside the building as well. 

“However will you explain this,” Deucalion rasped, laughing wetly. His fingers were glancing off the mountain ash and slipping on the blood seeping from the long, thin wound around his neck as he stood on his tiptoes as if being yanked up by a stronger opponent. 

“Oh, I can think of something,” Stiles replied, not bothering to raise his voice over the hammering against the locked garage gate. “But how will _you_ explain this disaster to your little band of murderers, huh? Big bad alpha, you bit off more than you can chew.” 

Deucalion’s eyes flashed red and he stared at Stiles for a very uncomfortable second. Then, he gasped, “You’re an alpha now. This is unprecedented. You’d make a _lovely_ addition to my pack.” 

Stiles expected Peter to say something, or maybe do something about the twin still keeping Isaac hostage, but the man did nothing. He was just … waiting. 

_Everyone_ seemed to be holding their breath, even Derek who really couldn’t afford to do so, which was unnerving in the extreme. 

“Was there a question in there somewhere?” Stiles finally asked.

“Join me,” Deucalion gurgled, still smiling creepily despite fighting against the suffocation. 

“Still not a question,” Stiles snapped. He bared his teeth in a snarl. “But to make this short: I’m not interested. Also, offering me a place in your pack when you’re in a less than ideal position to bargain? That’s just cheap, man.” 

“I didn’t know better.” Deucalion wheezed. “Think about it. I’ll show some goodwill to prove that I’m serious about my interest.” His red-eyed gaze flicked from Stiles to Aiden. “Let the puppy go.” 

Aiden bristled. “But-” 

“Let,” Deucalion repeated, voice nearly giving out, “him go.” 

With a growl, Aiden shoved Isaac down and sneered when the teen promptly crawled over to Derek and covered him with his body. “Fine. And now?” 

“Now we leave … with your permission, Stiles.” The red faded from Deucalion’s eyes and he gave up the fight against the mountain ash. 

Stiles turned to Peter before looking meaningfully upwards, where at least a dozen voices were shouting for him, Isaac, and Derek. 

“Your prisoner, your decision, alpha,” Peter rumble-growled, red eyes hungrily resting on Stiles’ face. His maw was twisted in an unnatural looking grin and his teeth were gleaming in the dim light of the garage. 

_Great, just drop the responsibility in my lap, why don’t you_ , Stiles thought hysterically. Right beside him in his mind, Lou was a lot less ambivalent about what he thought needed to happen. 

“Stiles?” the sheriff’s voice echoed faintly through the garage. “Isaac? Where are you?” 

“Decide already!” Aiden snapped, fangs and claws fully out. 

“Stiles!” more voices yelled. 

Shaking himself out of his stupor, Stiles, hissed, “I should kill you where you stand. The only reason I won’t is because it would mean a _shit ton_ of paperwork for my dad. _Piss off_ , you three, and take your fucking trash out of my territory! Should you be dumb enough to come back, you’ll regret it. Clear?” 

“Clear,” Deucalion wheezed. He weakly flapped a hand in the twins’ direction. At once, the two werewolves picked up Ennis’ more dead than alive body and speed-shuffled past Stiles and Peter and next to their leader. 

“Good riddance,” Stiles said sharply and recalled his mountain ash. 

Deucalion stumbled and gasped for air. Aiden tugged on him to follow, but the man still took the time to sketch a small bow at Stiles and pick up his stick. 

Warily, Stiles watched their limping departure, but from the corner of his eye, he managed to observe Peter losing his fur and crouching down by Derek and Isaac. “I hope you all packed some healing cards because you all fucking need them.” 

“I’ve got five, and Isaac already used one on Derek and himself each,” Peter reported. “Clever boy. We’ll make it better now, just hold on for a bit longer.” 

Isaac whimpered quietly, the sound strangely muffled like he’d burrowed his face in Peter’s shoulder and was trying very hard not to sob. 

Everything in Stiles ached to be by Derek’s side, and he would’ve joined the small group if Derek himself hadn’t rasped out Jackson’s name. 

“I’m fine, you need to heal him,” Derek urged breathlessly. He groaned as Peter ripped up yet another red healing card and pressed it to his upper chest. A bright dusting of magic exploded upwards, only to seep rapidly into his skin. “Prevent the transformation, if you can.” 

And so Stiles went to the SUV, where Jackson had sought shelter. The boy was still sitting there, knees drawn tightly to his torso, face pale and sweaty, and his blue eyes wide with terror. 

“I’m so sorry,” Stiles blurted out, dropping to his knees in front of Jackson. “So fucking sorry, I … god, I don’t know how to make it better. Or if I even can.” 

Jackson’s lips moved without a sound getting past. 

“Fuck, it hurts, obviously. Sorry.” Hastily, Stiles pulled all of his healing cards from his back pocket and ripped up the red one. He slapped the two parts right onto the still bleeding skin of Jackson’s shoulder, front and back, and _pushed_ as much of his will into the already existing spell as he could. “This is a little unhygienic, but I promise it works.” 

It did work, at least somewhat, as evidenced by the sudden drop of tension in Jackson’s body. The bleeding stopped almost completely and some of the torn ligaments seemed to repair themselves, much to Stiles’ relief. 

“Not your fault,” Jackson said roughly, groaning a little in discomfort. “Blind dude used his cane to break the ward.” 

Stiles blanched and nearly lost his hold on Jackson as his fingers lost their strength. “What?” 

Offering a small, somewhat dark smirk, Jackson said, “Yeah, just like that. Can’t think of everything, after all, Stilinski.” He coughed. “Fuck, it burns. Also, your dad’s going nuts.” 

“I know,” Stiles replied and grimaced. “Can you stand?” 

Instead of answering, Jackson held out his uninjured arm and together they managed to get him to his feet without provoking a screaming fit. 

“Stiles!” the sheriff shouted just as they left the questionable cover of the SUV. Breathless, he came to a stop and stared. “What the hell happened in here?” 

Behind him, four deputies also stopped short at the sight of Kali’s ravaged body, one even turning away to heave up his lunch for a beat or two. 

“Animal attack,” Peter retorted succinctly from his spot by Isaac and Derek. He didn’t even bother pretending that kneeling in a pool of blood disturbed him. “Successfully attacked all of us except Stiles, as you can see. This lady here didn’t make it.” 

“That’s bad,” Deputy Tara Graeme stated, face stiff and pale. She looked around and frowned. Stiles noticed the exact moment where things didn’t add up for her, and it wasn’t just a lack of bloody paw prints leaving the scene. “Very, very bad.” 

“I’m so, so sorry,” Stiles offered and absolutely meant it. Frozen, he stared at his father, who stared back. 

Deputy Graeme softened a little. “Oh kid, it’s not your fault.” 

“The ambulance is on the way and you’ll _all_ go to the hospital,” Stiles’ father managed to say, tone brokering no discussion. “We’ll take your statements later. And now come here, Stiles. I need to hug the stuffing out of you.” 

Since there was no letting go of Jackson, the boy was included in the sheriff’s famed dad hugs, and for once in his life, Jackson wasn’t too proud to accept the offered comfort. 

That moment of peace couldn’t last, naturally. Even with the help of the healing cards, Derek and Isaac were badly off and in no position to argue the sheriff’s plans for them. On the edge of an adrenaline crash, Stiles watched over his friends until the EMTs were there and loading everyone except Peter and himself onto gurneys. 

“Will you ride with us?” Isaac asked pitifully and nearly twisted off the gurney when the man taking care of him cleaned out a particularly nasty claw mark in his side. 

“Of course I will,” Peter answered soothingly, stroking Isaac’s hair and cheeks under another medics watchful gaze. They were the only two areas on Isaac's body that weren’t hurt. "I'll have to leave for a bit once you're settled, but I'll be back for the night."

Without missing a beat, Stiles said, “I’ll ride with Derek. Can you go with Jackson, dad? _Please_?” 

Instantly suspicious, the sheriff looked at the teen sitting on his gurney and having the bite wound looked at and prodded by yet another frowning EMT. It didn’t take him long at all to understand what had happened and his face tensed before softening with pity. “Yes, of course. I’ll make it happen. But Peter should call his father before the hospital does. Knowing David, he’d suffer a massive coronary otherwise.” 

“Peter’s on it,” Stiles said, confident in Peter’s ability and willingness to handle this catastrophe. “I’ll keep watch over everyone while he takes care of stuff. I can stay the night if the hospital keeps them, right?” 

At that point, Isaac was wheeled away, a deputy helping with keeping the gurney steady as the two medics assigned to him pushed it up the ramp. Peter went with him and didn’t return. 

“I’m impressed,” John murmured, watching them go. “He didn’t sneer at the boys once.” 

“Why would he?” Stiles asked, nonplussed. 

“Well, they heal pretty fast, don’t they? I just thought he’d be more unconcerned,” his father admitted. 

“Ah. Well, it’s not that easy.” Stiles lowered his voice some more even as his and Lou's combined fury seethed to life again. “They were attacked by alphas, and wounds inflicted by an alpha take a lot longer to heal. Something to do with the strength of their wolf spark and stuff. I was a little sceptical, but seeing this? Yeah, I'm a believer now.” 

“Sheriff! You’ve got to see the pics from the ground floor!” a deputy yelled through the garage, holding up a camera. 

The sheriff cursed softly. “You’ll tell me everything later. If anyone asks, stick to Hale’s party line for now. We’ll have to regroup and plan once we know what sort of evidence is there.” 

A clump of ice dropped into Stiles’ stomach and radiated its numbing coldness throughout his body. “I’ll never be able to say sorry often enough.” 

His father clasped a hand around his neck and squeezed. “Whatever went down, I _know_ that it wasn’t your fault. We’ll deal with this together - later. For now, put it out of your mind and go with Derek; they’re waiting.” 

Hitching a small sob, Stiles went over to Derek’s gurney and helped push it forward, though not without touching Jackson’s unhurt shoulder as he went past him and assuring him that they’d meet again at the hospital. 

When they passed the forcefully opened gate a couple of minutes later, Stiles was nearly blinded by the bright evening sun. The dichotomy between all that blood and gore down there and the balmy summer evening out on the street was jarring, to say the least. Even worse were the rubberneckers trying to film over the crime scene tape his father’s deputies had used to block the street so the forensic team and the medic could work in peace. 

“This is a nightmare,” Stiles declared once he and Derek were safely inside the back of the ambulance. Without hesitation, he squeezed between the gurney and the far wall and took Derek’s hand to give and receive some comfort. The EMT with them huffed approvingly and fussed with the bandages on Derek’s torso. “How’s the neck?” 

“Still hurts,” Derek rasped. He was clearly exhausted, his face drawn and pale from the pain. Stiles felt immense pity for the guy since the IV with the painkillers obviously did next to nothing for him. “Bleeding through the bandages.” 

“We might have to stitch him up,” the medic offered and made a note on a chart next. “Thankfully neither spine nor trachea was harmed. The oesophagus might’ve gotten nicked, though, so that’ll have to get checked out ASAP. The rest are mostly flesh wounds, albeit bad ones.” 

A barrage of questions regarding Derek’s insurance followed, which Stiles helped answer to the best of his ability. It stung a little to realize how little he still knew about his beta and friend’s circumstances, but a phone call with Peter managed to fill in the most important details. 

As they rolled up to the hospital, the EMT asked, “Any chance you can tell us what sort of animal it was? Going by the claw and teeth marks, I’d almost say a bear, but there aren’t any bears in this county, nevermind in an underground garage in the city. Not with the preserve around offering so many opportunities for hunting and foraging.” 

Derek looked at Stiles from tired eyes and Stiles offered, “Dunno, I mostly ran from it as fast as I could. But it was large. And had dark fur. It growled a lot, too, but not like a big cat.” He shrugged and tried to look clueless. “To be honest, you guys probably chased it off. Thank god.” 

“You all saw the body of that lady,” the medic said slowly after scribbling down what little Stiles had given him. “I’ll put in a recommendation for everyone to get trauma counselling. You’re holding up pretty well, but you’ll crash eventually.” 

“Then it’s a good thing I’ve already decided to spend the night with my friends,” Stiles said. He gripped Derek’s hand a little tighter. “I’ll even let you check me for shock or whatever if that’ll make you happy.” 

“Deal,” the EMT accepted at once. The ambulance slowed to a stop and two ER nurses opened the doors. “Let’s get you checked out and treated.” 

Stiles tried to impede the separation from Derek, but the hospital personnel insisted since he was neither declared next of kin nor had the power of attorney. Therefore, not two minutes after entering the hospital, Stiles was left behind in the waiting room and pacing a hole into the ground. Texting Erica and Boyd helped a little but it wasn’t enough to drown out Lou’s howling for pack. 

Ten minutes later Jackson’s parents arrived, both looking ten years older and in desperate need of assurance that their son would be okay. 

It nearly broke Stiles that he couldn’t promise them that, even if he did truthfully tell them that he had done what he could at the scene. 

At Mrs. Whittemore’s tearful gratitude, Stiles felt like the worst sort of failure. 

oOo

Hours later, Stiles, Derek, Isaac, and Jackson were settled into a private four-bedroom suite at Peter’s behest. While the doctors recommended rest, they didn’t send Erica and Boyd away when they came to visit. 

“Holy shit, you three look like you’ve been put through the grinder,” Erica gasped as she entered. She actually wobbled a little and leaned gratefully into Boyd’s strong arm around her shoulder. “Stiles told us what happened, but it’s different seeing it.” 

“ _Very_ different,” Boyd echoed, taking in the damage to all of them. 

“I’m so glad you’re all alive. Oh, here is the magical med-pack Peter gave us. He also packed some clothes and food for all of you.” Erica rattled the bag with the dice and ward chips. “I’m so looking forward to seeing how this works!” 

“And I can’t wait to use it,” Isaac groaned. His left arm and right leg were in a thick cast and nearly all of his upper body was wrapped up in bandages. “This sucks. I thought I’d left this bullshit behind when I accepted the bite.” 

"We'll get you sorted out soon," Stiles promised. "We've got the dice and I'll continue reading healing spells at you."

“Can we do anything else to help?” Boyd asked. 

“Yeah, actually. You could ask my dad for the ward stones. We had to leave them behind,” Stiles said at once and took the large duffel bag from Boyd. “I already secured the room with some runes, and I’ve got my mountain ash, but I’d feel better if we had them, too. Especially since I know what weak point I’ll have to eliminate.” 

“Weak point?” Erica wondered. “They were so strong when we tried them out!” 

“The dude that bit me used his blind man’s stick to break the ward,” Jackson explained with a swiping hand wave. The large, white bandage on his shoulder was already flecked with blood, again. “Just like that.” 

“Rest assured that I’ll rectify that mistake,” Stiles said darkly. He opened the bag and pulled out the four Tupperware containers. “Oh, Peter sent us gnocchi from La Traviata. Blue cheese and chicken is for Derek, mushroom for Isaac, and I guess the ones with scampi are for you, Jackson.” 

A little thrown, Jackson accepted the container. “Thanks. Dunno if I can eat but … yeah.” 

“Were you really bitten by an alpha? Did it hurt?” Erica asked and sat on Stiles’ bed. When Jackson nodded shortly, she exclaimed, “Man, that sucks rocks _big time_.” 

“Better than being killed,” Jackson muttered. “My parents flipped their shit. Mom doesn’t even know about the werewolf thing. She’s worried about rabies and whatnot.” 

Erica made a commiserating sound and then looked around. “I hear you. Say, where’s Lydia? I thought she’d be here.” 

“She’s at the Jungle, working hard to appease and entertain the guests,” Stiles told her once it became clear that Jackson would remain silent. To defend her, he added, “Someone needed to do that since a few of them arrived almost at the same time as the police. Shit went viral already, even though no one really knows what happened yet. Lydia hopes to distract them with the party.” 

A short rap at the door spooked them all, and they started even further when it swung open and revealed a furious-looking teenager. 

“Danny?” Jackson asked, his jaw dropping a little. "What are you doing here?"

“Fuck you,” Danny retorted. Even with his tanned skin, the angry flush in his face was highly visible. “ _Werewolves_ , Jax? Really?” 

Jackson flushed as well, but he rallied quickly. “It's not my story to tell.” 

Sucking in a deep breath through quivering nostrils, Danny bit out, “At this point, I don’t care about that anymore. One of you _will_ tell me because I just scrubbed that fucking altercation from the security tapes for you before the police got around to it. You’re welcome!” 

**End of chapter 59**


	60. Chapter 60

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally a new chapter. I'm sorry, the plot bunnies are really thick on the ground right now. I have several new ones for more Harry Potter and Teen Wolf stories; it's insane! (But I love it.) 
> 
> Have fun and stay safe!

**Chapter 60**

Stiles and Lou, who were already riled from having nearly all of their pack almost killed by strange alphas, were in no mood to entertain a school acquaintance’s delusions of entitlement. In a flash, Stiles was off his bed, his clawed fingers closing around Danny’s windpipe. He felt some ash crawling over his face, and his eyes were weirdly warm, but all he could really focus on was the _threat_ to his friends. 

“You think doing one good deed entitles you to all of our secrets?” he forced out roughly, voice a little sandpapery from the ash that was coursing through him. “Fucking think again.” 

Danny let out a terrified whimper and scrabbled against Stiles’ hand and arm. His feet were kicking as well like Danny had no real contact with the ground, which struck Stiles as funny somewhere in the deep recesses of his more rational mind. 

Agitated and hyped up on adrenaline and alpha wolf spark energy as he was, Stiles felt neither of the frantic attacks. 

“Stiles … he actually helped us out here,” Jackson said quietly, voice barely louder than Danny’s laboured gasping. “Could you maybe let him at least breathe a little?” 

Stiles cocked his head. It was strange how Lou seemed at the forefront right now, considering their captive suspiciously. “We don’t like that he snooped. Again. We also don’t like how pushy he is.” 

“Well, he’s my best friend, and _you’re_ hardly any better,” Jackson muttered, although he wouldn’t meet Stiles’ eye directly. 

“Now that the wolf is out of the bag, the question is what Mahealani will do with the information,” Isaac said. While still looking like he’d been mauled by a bear, a dozen of Stiles’ healing cards and several instances of reading healing spells from the most potent book in Peter’s library had firmly put him out of the critical stage. He sneered. “Stiles is right, we don’t need a loose cannon running around and telling everyone about our business.” 

“I wouldn’t,” Danny rasped and fought against the pressure around his throat. “I swear I wouldn’t!” 

“Says the guy who hacked my old laptop and tried to do the same with my new one,” Stiles honest to god _snarled_. “I warned you, Danny. Seems like you have a hard time listening.” 

“You won’t kill him, right?” Erica asked hesitantly. When no answer was forthcoming, she tried again, “Stiles?” 

“At least not right away,” Isaac huffed. “I’ll need some time until I’m good for body disposal, although Peter would love to help out.” 

“I’m sure,” Derek said dryly and with a roll of his expressive eyes. 

Danny blanched dramatically and let out a pathetic wheeze. 

“Stiles, let up a little already!” Jackson bellowed. “You’re freaking us the fuck out!” 

“Shut your trap, Whittemore,” Isaac growled back. “Bitten or not, you don’t get to tell us what to do. Mahealani snooped, he’ll bear the consequences.” He crossed his arms in front of his chest. “I for my part don’t need his smug ass in our group.” 

“Well, he did help us out,” Derek reminded him. “Letting him vanish would be in poor taste.” 

Stiles and Lou stared at Danny for a moment longer and then flung the boy on Stiles’ abandoned bed like he was a ragdoll. He felt a bit bad for displacing Erica, but she was better off sitting by Derek anyway. “Sit and don’t move. I mean it.” 

Danny nodded, obviously terrified out of his wits. 

“I’m pretty sure that Peter’s already found several memory modification spells,” Isaac said maliciously. “One of them is bound to work on Mahealani.” 

“Wha … I don’t want to betray you!” Danny cried hoarsely. “What the fuck?” 

Stiles asked Lou to retreat for the moment and rolled his shoulders when the mountain ash slithered back to his torso and hugged him tightly, reassuringly. “Yeah, Danny. What the fuck. You _saw_ what happened in that garage. Three of my friends were badly hurt, they could’ve all died. Jackson was bitten by a werewolf, which is a horror all on its own. And _you_ think this is a good idea to come barging in here, demanding answers?” He snorted. “You can be glad that I didn’t decide to end you right then after that nightmare. One more threat out of your petty trap and I will do it, you get me?” 

Danny’s eyes were so wide that they looked like they’d pop out of their sockets any second. “I … I’m sorry. I didn’t think … I was just so worried about Jackson. He’s behaved weirdly for a few weeks now ... accepting gifts from you and going for visits when you can hardly stand each other. I knew …” He swallowed. “I knew that _something_ was going on, but Jackson wouldn’t tell me.” 

“I told you to stay out of it,” Jackson sighed and wriggled a little for a more comfortable position. With a grimace, he grabbed his injured shoulder. “Aw, shit. You have another one of those cards, Stiles?” 

It was Boyd who went over and wordlessly ripped up a red healing card and pressed the ends to the front and back of Jackson’s bandaged shoulder. To Stiles, he said, “You think he’ll transform?” 

“Well, I hope he does,” Stiles answered. “The alternative is sort of fatalistically permanent.” 

Jackson hissed in pain but otherwise remained stoic. 

“Is that true?” Danny rasped. He struggled up into a sitting position to better see the golden glow of magic surround the shoulder. “Could he die?” 

“He could,” Stiles confirmed in a flat tone. “But as shitty as that would be, surviving might actually be worse. The asshole that bit him would technically be his alpha, and an alpha has quite a bit of control over his betas, especially the newly bitten ones.” 

“I’d never listen to him,” Jackson snapped. A bit less sharply he said to Boyd, “Thanks, man. I can hold it myself now.” 

Nodding, Boyd stepped back and assumed parade rest between Jackson and Derek’s beds. He looked like a complete badass like that, Stiles decided before forcing his mind back to the topic at hand. 

“Jackson will turn or he won’t, there’s not much we can do about that right now. So let’s talk about you and your need to know everything instead,” Stiles said to Danny. He felt an odd sense of calm, his insides neither churning nor clenching painfully anymore. As Isaac had said, the wolf was out of the bag now. All they could do was some sort of damage control. 

Danny was back to gawping at Stiles. “I really am sorry.” 

“You’d better be,” Stiles said mercilessly. “This shit right here is not a joke. You _know_ what happened, and you better believe that this won’t be the last time we get hurt. Getting involved means that you take on a certain responsibility.” He paused, almost enjoying making Danny squirm. “I’m not so sure that you’re ready for that … or even suitable.” 

“What about Erica and Boyd?” Danny asked. “They obviously know. How are _they_ suitable?” 

“They’re friends,” Stiles returned evenly. “They earned our trust just by being great people, plus they’ve been crazy helpful in a lot of ways. Also, they didn’t push. I invited them in.” 

Danny finally lowered his eyes and bit his lip. “You don’t consider me a friend.” 

Stiles and Isaac both snorted. 

“Should I? Really?” Stiles asked. “I might’ve been a bit dumb about people before all of this started, but right now I couldn’t care less about you. You mean _nothing_ to me personally. We don’t hang out, we don’t do each other favours. If you were to move to San Diego tomorrow, I wouldn’t even miss you.” 

“Same here,” Isaac said immediately. 

Erica and Boyd shrugged and agreed with that assessment as well. 

“Don’t look at me,” Derek said when Danny’s shocked eyes landed on him. “I don’t even know you. Also, my name’s not Miguel, and no, I’m not into guys.” 

“Look,” Stiles said to Danny when it became clear that the teen was at a loss for words and even a little hurt, “I don’t mean to tear you down or whatever. People generally like you, which is super for you. Our group, though? We’re not interested in sharing our business with a near-stranger. Especially a near-stranger who tries to bully us into revealing stuff when we’re already down.” 

“I didn’t mean to …” Danny broke off, mouth opening and closing a couple of times when everyone, even Jackson, raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Don’t bother. We can sense when you’re lying,” Derek informed him. “I get that you’re curious. That one,” he pointed at Stiles, “was a terror before things began to work out. That doesn’t mean we’re going to tolerate it from others. Not anymore.” 

“Maybe it really is too dangerous for you, Danny,” Jackson said. He tapped his shoulder, where a little blood had begun to seep through the bandage. “I didn’t want this, I just got mixed up in all of this drama because of McCall and my own stupidity. Don’t be that dumb if you’re not planning on going through with it. Despite Lahey’s posturing, I’m not sure there aren’t actually memory spells. I might want one, should I survive the fucking bite.” 

That, at last, coaxed a weak chuckle out of Danny. “No, you don’t.” 

Jackson huffed. “Maybe I don’t.” 

“Doesn’t mean I won’t look into it,” Stiles said, earning himself incredulous looks. “What, you guys actually thought I wouldn’t? With hunters and psycho alphas around? Come on.” 

Danny licked his lips nervously. “Maybe I didn’t have the best motives for spying on you, and maybe my approach was a bit … manipulative. But I do worry about Jackson and Lydia. What will you do in terms of evidence scrubbing if something like this …” he waved at them all, “happens again?” 

“No idea.” Stiles looked at Derek and Isaac. “Maybe a disruptor field kind of amulet?” 

“It should get activated with a touch and some intent,” Isaac shot back immediately. “Like a shirt button or something.” 

“They shouldn’t fry the equipment permanently,” Boyd offered. “That’d only piss people off, in addition to making them curious. Also, what about our own stuff.” 

Stiles snapped his fingers. “Right. We’ll figure that out.” 

“If Stiles can make mini EMPs, can we also get magical pocket alerts?” Erica asked. She pointed at herself and Boyd. “Us squishy humans could do with something that won’t run out of battery juice and will reach you no matter what.” 

“Like a Bat-Signal,” Stiles breathed, excited. “ _Excellent_ suggestion, Catwoman.” 

“You’re saying that you don’t need me loud and clear,” Danny said weakly and deflated. “I get it.” 

“I’m gonna be honest, it’d be useful to have someone with your skills in the pack,” Stiles admitted. “But do we want a loose cannon? Nope, definitely not. It’s just not worth it, especially since someone like you could squirrel away so much incriminating material it wouldn’t be funny in a century, let alone now.” 

“You realize that I just can’t stop being insanely curious, right?” Danny asked. “Even if I never bother you again, I’ll be curious. And that’s just shitty. I’ll drive me crazy.” 

“Tough,” Stiles responded mercilessly. “Most of it isn’t my story to tell, so we’d have to hash it out with our alpha first. Everyone in favour of dumping this crap into Peter’s lap, raise your hand.” 

The vote was unanimous and an uncomfortable silence descended on the room. 

“For fuck’s sake, get over here,” Jackson snapped after a minute and waved Danny over to his bed. When Isaac glowered at him he huffed, “I was bitten by a psycho who calls himself the _Demon Wolf_. Danny stays. He’s my emotional support human.” 

Stiles exchanged exasperated looks with his friends before pulling out his phone and sending Peter a message. 

_I shld b used to unexpected events bn_ , he closed with some irritation, _but I doubt that’ll ever happen_. _Thx for that, Creeperwolf._

Peter’s reply was swift and snarky, like usual. _Just doing my part. You’d die of boredom, sweetheart, and we simply can’t have that. Hold on, I’ll be there soon._

oOo

Peter entered the hospital room fifteen minutes later, accompanied by Stiles’ father and laden down with bags upon bags of more take-out food. 

“We thought you might get hungry later, what with all the healing you still need to do,” John said as he passed the food around. Upon spotting Danny, he started. “What’s this?” 

“He invited himself,” Stiles huffed. “And he scrubbed the security tapes, so I _suppose_ we owe him our thanks.” 

“Not killing him was enough gratitude,” Isaac growled, causing Danny to look at him in alarm. 

“No killing of nosy teenagers, please,” the sheriff sighed. “It was bad enough finding you all with a headless body in that garage.” He eyed Danny out of narrowed eyes. “Protecting the kids from uncomfortable questions notwithstanding, I thought we had an agreement about your unfortunate hobby, you and I.” 

Danny actually gulped like a little boy. “We did, sir. I, uh, was just looking out for Jackson.” 

The sheriff’s eyebrows rose high on his forehead. “I already know that Stiles roughed you up a little, so I’ll let it go - this once. Don’t do it again without our permission. Werewolves can get testy when someone’s interfering in their business.” 

“Understood, sir,” Danny agreed hastily. “But sir … Stiles said that this won’t be the only time that stuff like this might happen. What about then?” 

Peter lightly touched John’s shoulder, indicating that he’d answer that question. “Isaac already told me about the newest plans for talismans. They’ll be a great boon in that regard. I might find an accomplished IT specialist later, we’ll need one eventually for several reasons.” 

Danny bit his lip, exchanged a loaded look with Jackson, and finally turned back to Peter. “What if I want to apply for that position?” 

Stiles rolled his eyes. 

Peter smirked. “Stiles is not convinced that you’d be a good fit, Mr Mahealani and I’m inclined to agree. We know nothing about you, other than that you’re friends with Jackson and dear Lydia and a sunny boy.” 

“I’m pretty damn good with IT,” Danny retorted. “I know all the systems in Beacon Hills, and with some training and planning I’ll know when to be where.” He chanced a look at the sheriff’s unamused face. “I’d only do it with official approval. Like, if Stiles’ dad says no, that’s it for me.” 

“There’s more to it than that,” Peter said. He drew out a chair for John and parked himself at the foot of Stiles’ bed. “Being part of a pack is about commitment and loyalty. Our secrets will remain secrets, even if we part ways in the future. Pack life is not for everyone, one has to be able to tolerate the closeness.” 

“What does that mean?” Danny asked. “If it’s about taking your calls and stuff, that’s no issue.” 

“It’s not just that, although that’s important, too,” Derek said. “The pack is … everything. We’re individuals, but we make our lives’ goals about the pack.” 

Stiles decided to throw Danny a bone. “Take me, for instance. I sort of stumbled into this and discovered along the way that I can do magic. So to support the pack I began teaching myself and also opened a shop to sell some stuff. Isaac and Derek are helping with that. I’m also responsible for the magical protection of the territory.” 

“I’m doing the artwork for the stuff we’re selling,” Isaac added. “And I’ll do custom artwork for people who’re willing to pay extra for the magic stuff. If they just want art, that’s great, too.” 

“Are you magic, too?” Danny asked Erica and Boyd. 

“Nah, we’re human, but we helped some in the last couple of weeks,” Erica explained. “We painted stones for Stiles’ ward thingy and were just around cheering them on. It was fun and I’d love to keep doing it.” 

“I found friends,” Boyd said as if that explained it all, and to Stiles it absolutely did. 

“So your pack is like some long-term family unit?” Danny asked sceptically. “What about school and college and jobs? Do you really plan on staying in Beacon Hills all your life?” 

That sparked a discussion about the negotiations Peter had done with Isaac, was still doing with Stiles and was open to doing with Stiles’ father, Erica, and Boyd. 

“Jackson too, I suppose,” Peter finished thoughtfully, “although he might prefer Stiles. Only time will tell.” 

“Let me survive this first,” Jackson said bitterly. “Then we can talk about whose slave I’ll be.” 

“It’s not slavery,” Stiles argued. “Having a great alpha is like having a competent adult around for all the supernatural shit that’s going on. Peter _just_ explained to you and Danny that none of this means that you won’t get a good education or whatever.” 

“Right now it feels like the end of the world,” Jackson admitted without looking up from his clenched hands. 

“Yeah, I know.” Stiles flicked out his fingers, sending his mountain ash across the room. Driven by Lou, it wrapped around Jackson’s wrist in a little hug. “But you don’t have to go through it alone. Not if you don’t want to. That’s what being pack means, too.” 

Jackson looked up, his face conflicted. “I’d feel better with Danny.” 

“No one’s telling you to cut all contact with him,” Peter said evenly. “All we’re saying is that, for the moment, Mr Mahealani is not a good fit for the pack. We compromised by giving him some information so he can be of use to you and Lydia.” He let his eyes flash red. “Now it’s on him to prove that our trust in his basic decency wasn’t misplaced.” 

Stiles jumped a little when his eyes became oddly warm again. It didn’t help that everyone’s mouths dropped open. 

“What?” he asked self-consciously, cheeks flaming. 

“Oh darling, your ruby eyes are beautiful,” Peter purred. 

Danny’s jaw dropped all the way. 

**End of chapter 60**


	61. Chapter 61

**Chapter 61**

Stiles only felt a little pathetic when he excused himself to the next public bathroom with a flail. Derek had twitched like he’d wanted to follow, which thankfully Stiles’ dad had prevented. 

_I’m okay_ , Stiles thought a little hysterically, staring at his red-eyed reflection in the mirror above the sink. _What are a few red eyes in the grand scheme of things, eh?_

Out loud, he said, “How’s that possible, Lou? I get that you’re an alpha now, but we’re not really bonded. Not like the others.” 

_Bonded enough_ , drifted across his agitated mind. It was one smug, smooth roll, like an ocean wave over a reef of jagged volcano rubble. _Sparks are merging. Feels good._

It _did_ feel good if a little weird. 

“We’re gonna have to work _so hard_ not to flash those lookers at people,” Stiles muttered. “Oh my god, how’s that my life.” 

_Good life_ , Lou rumbled. _Love you_. 

Another roll of emotion nearly smothered Stiles, this time a hot yet mellow affection that radiated bliss into the darkest corners of his mind. 

“Aw, buddy. Love you too.” Stiles blinked the red away and sniffed. “You did real good, earlier. We protected our pack like a champ. Although we need to ease up a little on humans like Danny, yeah? He’s a little shit, but he didn’t actually mean us harm.” 

Lou disagreed, which Stiles was okay with as long as there wouldn’t be squabbling over the physical boundaries Stiles imposed. He had a feeling that they already had an accord regarding supernatural and human issues regardless - each of them would primarily deal with their side of things unless it became apparent that it wouldn’t work out. That allowed for a lot of grey areas where they both got a say and Stiles was okay with that, too. 

“So, what do we call us?” Stiles asked, quirking a half-smile. “Venom Wolf would be amazing. It’d even be true since you’re moving around in mountain ash. That’ll drive supernatural douchebags crazy.” 

Lou’s amusement tickled Stiles behind the ribs and they shared a moment of perfect understanding. 

“We’ll need to train,” Stiles added then. “And I guess Peter’s senior, even if you’re both alphas and technically equals.” 

We’re _alpha_ , Lou admonished. _Together_. 

Stiles’ eyes bled red again and he swallowed, chastised. “Right. Yeah. Together. Still, we’ve had almost no training, and half the time I don’t even know what I’m doing. We need to go back to self-defence training, and get better at doing magic, too. It’s not fair to you to have a body that’s not as strong as if you were inside.” 

Lou sort of happily snuggled his mind at that, his approval of Stiles’ dedication a sweet layer on top of his already overwhelming puppy love. 

“Just give me some time to complete the ward around Beacon Hills and get full clearance from the doctors and then we can begin our training. Oh, and if we could leave off the hunting of bunnies and stuff, I’d be grateful. I’m not that into catching my own dinner.” 

Lou’s amusement nearly bowled him over. 

“That was not an agreement, buddy!” Stiles huffed, laughing. _Seriously, how is this my life?_

A knock at the door put an end to their little communion. 

_Erica_ , Lou supplied, though not so much in a word as with how he perceived her. Erica was noise and sunshine and energy, the impression muted by the scent of cleaning agents and medication. Stiles associated those sense impressions with her parents, mostly. 

“Hi,” Stiles said after opening the door. “What’s up?” 

“We’re afraid that you’re having a silent freak-out. The pack was listening in to your conversation with yourself,” she said bluntly. “Peter wasn’t worried, but Derek and Isaac won’t calm down. You ready to head back?” 

“Sure, Catwoman.” Stiles sighed. “I was having a conversation with Lou, which is not the same thing. Just for the record.” 

Erica’s eyes lit up. “Oooh, you’ll have to tell me all about it.” She took his hand and dragged him back to their room. There, she pushed Stiles at Isaac, who unapologetically pressed up to him as much as he was able and snuffled along his neck. “He’s just fine, you can all chill now.” 

“Well done, thank you,” Peter praised. He held out Stiles’ Tupperbox with the barely eaten gnocchi. “You must be hungry by now. Please eat.” 

“There’s also Thai if you don’t like cold pasta,” the sheriff supplied. 

“Nah, that’s okay.” Stiles gratefully took the gnocchi. His fingers brushed against Peters and he very firmly told himself that it didn’t mean anything. His stupid eyes, however, begged to differ. They grew hot, clearly flashing their new colour at the man. 

The answering flash of Peter’s eyes, not to mention the smug curl of his lips, stirred up quite a bit of guilty excitement in Stiles’ stomach. 

“Oh my god,” Isaac muttered, his hold around Stiles’ waist growing a bit firmer. “Can you not? Please?” 

Flushing, Stiles dropped his gaze and concentrated on his food. 

“Can I ask what Stiles also being a real alpha werewolf will mean for you?” Danny asked into the tense silence. “You’re not into building your own alpha pack, or are you?” 

“The dynamics would be a nightmare,” Peter said smoothly, taking his burning eyes from Stiles and concentrating on the others. “Every pack needs a leader, even in an alpha pack. It takes special handling to make that work. In our case, I do have seniority.” 

Stiles perked up since that was almost exactly what he’d said to Lou. 

Peter nodded at him. “Both Stiles and I know that I have more experience, being a born werewolf and all that. Therefore, Stiles’ ascendance to werewolf alpha is not a threat to my alpha position right now. In fact, it’s good that he acquired an alpha spark for himself since he already became Derek’s alpha when he was still a human. That’ll enable him to protect his friends better and last longer against enemies.” 

“Wait, that can happen? Humans can become alpha to a werewolf?” Danny asked, flabbergasted. He looked at Stiles like he was a stranger. 

“Through a lot of dedication and a dash of magic, yes, absolutely,” Peter replied. “Their bond was solid before, but the addition of an alpha spark won’t hurt their bond at all.” 

“But … Stiles is younger.” Danny’s stare went from Stiles to Derek. “Not-Miguel looks like he could easily bench press him. Like, forever.” 

“Oh, he probably can.” Isaac smirked. “Doesn’t mean Stiles is not the boss.” 

“As much as Derek will let me be the boss,” Stiles muttered and shoved another spoonful of cheesy gnocchi in his mouth. “As I said, no one’s a slave here or whatever crap is going through your head.” 

“It’s just hard to wrap my mind around,” Danny confessed. “But it’s super interesting, too.” 

“It totally is,” Erica agreed. “I hope I’ll be friends with Stiles _forever_ so I can learn all of it.” 

“You say the nicest things, Catwoman,” Stiles said through his mouthful of food. “Also, same.” 

While his dad was admonishing him for his atrocious manners, Erica beamed and wriggled happily into Derek’s side, who bore it with a resigned sort of fondness. 

A few minutes later Stiles’ father ushered Danny out with the promise to list him and Lydia as visitors, though not without reading him the riot act about distracting the officer on watch duty with a fake emergency message first. 

“I’ll make it up to you,” Danny promised sheepishly before trotting off. “Bye guys, see you tomorrow.” 

“Unfortunately I’ll have to leave soon as well,” Peter said after the teen was gone. “I trust Stiles and the sheriff’s people to protect you, but be careful regardless.” 

“I brought the ward stones from the station,” John added, pointing at the duffle bag by his chair, “so you can protect the room from the inside.” 

“There’s also mountain ash in that bag. Use it,” Peter ordered. “There’ll be a night visit by a nurse, you’ll all make sure that she checks out and doesn’t inject unwelcome pharmaceuticals in your IVs.” 

“I’ve got it,” Stiles said. “I’ll tune up the ward stones and try to add an intent element to it. If someone’s not kosher, they won’t be able to enter.” 

“Even if they did, Derek and I will probably be able to smell any poisons,” Isaac continued. “What’s more, Mahealani left Whittemore his laptop. You can bet that he’ll activate the camera when it’s lights out.” 

Jackson flushed a bright red. “That okay? Lydia’s been sending me a hundred messages already. She hates being held up at the party and that’d calm her down a little.” 

“It’s not my kink, but I’ll allow it,” Stiles decided. “Hopefully we can leave soon. That’s not how I imagined I’d spend the summer.” 

“Dr Lee is on our side,” the sheriff said quietly. He nodded to Peter. “You might want to read him in sometime soon, though, because that man is really getting curious about all the rapid healing cases that are sprouting up around here.” 

“It’s on my ever-growing to-do list,” Peter retorted, drawing a little giggle from Erica. “Maybe you can sound him out, Sheriff, find out when would be a good time and then join me. He will likely take it better if someone familiar corroborates my explanation.” 

“Yeah, I’d better.” Stiles’ father ran a hand over his face. “I need to get back to the station, oversee that clusterfuck of an evening.” He stepped up to Stiles and took his face into his hands. “Why do these things keep happening to you? A werewolf alpha at seventeen. With _magic_. Jesus.” 

Unashamed, Stiles leaned into the caress. “No idea, but I won’t let it bring us down.” 

“We,” Boyd corrected him, eyebrow slightly raised at Stiles’ surprised look. 

“Yes, _we_ won’t let it bring us down, doofus,” Erica confirmed before either Isaac or Derek could. “Death and decapitation suck, but that’s the others, not you, so. Not getting rid of us that easily.” 

“On that high note, the adults and the two non-pack humans will be leaving,” John sighed. “The rest of you do your best to rest and recover. And please be careful. If those people get it in their head to try again … let’s just say that I’d much rather investigate their unfortunate end than yours. Come, Erica, Boyd, I’ll give you a ride home.” 

After a round of hugs and, in Boyd’s case, friendly handshakes, the four left the room and Stiles left Isaac’s side to spread out the two dozen ward stones on his own bed. It was a matter of minutes to concentrate enough to give them their new and improved orders. 

“You can breathe, you know,” Stiles said to Jackson when he was done. 

Jackson scoffed. “That was lame, Stilinski. I thought there’d be a light show or something!” 

Smirking, Stiles grabbed five rocks and willed his mountain ash to grab them. In a black flow, it transported the rocks to Jackson’s bed and placed them evenly spaced on the covers around the boy. “You try to move them now, Whittemore.” 

“Ha, that won’t work.” Jackson reached out to the nearest bright blue stone with a neon-coloured peacock and runes in glittering pink on it, only to be rebuffed. “What the hell!” 

“Told you,” Stiles said smugly. His ash returned to him, oozed underneath the rest of the ward stones and carried them off, one by one, like a line of marching ants. In just a couple of minutes, the walls were lined with colourful ward stones. 

A shiver went through Derek and Isaac and even Jackson twitched a little. 

“Wow, you did feel that, didn’t you?” Isaac asked, his eyes glowing amber. “What happened?” 

Stiles shrugged. “I’m guessing that the ward stones somehow linked up with the runes I painted to contain the healing energy. Huh.” 

“Huh?” Jackson asked sharply and rubbed his forearm. “ That’s all you have to say about that? How about _fucking creepy_!” 

“Fucking helpful is what it is,” Derek said, unmoved. “You’re still injured, but how bad do you think it’d be without Stiles’ magic? They’d have had to stitch up your whole shoulder, instead of just putting a pressure bandage on it. Overnight it’ll probably heal so much that you’ll already have some mobility back.” 

“What Derek’s meaning to say is that you’d better be grateful, or Stiles might take his toys and go home,” Isaac sneered. “You’ll have lots of fun healing at a human speed, I’m sure.” 

“Don’t be too hard on him, guys. I’d be freaking out too if I were new to all of this,” Stiles said. He eyed Jackson speculatively. Almost as an afterthought, he motioned for the mountain ash to retrieve the ward stones on Jackson’s bed so the teen could move freely again. “I don’t know what to think about you being able to feel that. So far only the fur brigade reacted to my magic. It works for humans, but they don’t feel it like the werewolves do.” 

“Do you think he’s turning?” Derek asked. He took a long sniff. “I can’t smell anything yet. For a normal turning, it’d be too early yet.” 

“I don’t know,” Stiles admitted, carefully plucking the stones out of the ash and placing them back in their bag. “We could test again. If you feel that too, it might be a good sign, Jackson.” 

The desperate hope in the teen’s eyes was hard to bear. “You think so?” 

Stiles held Jackson’s pleading stare easily. “I _believe_ it, and you should, too.” 

oOo

The night passed reasonably well, all things considered. Every couple of hours at least one of them woke from a night terror and needed a few minutes to calm back down again, which in turn woke the others, but it was still more restful than Stiles had anticipated. He spent the minutes awake with reciting a healing spell to help the others settle down again. The night nurse’s visit was just another such instance and passed without issue. 

No, the trouble started in the morning. Even without Isaac and Derek’s horrified expressions, Stiles could see the black that had seeped through Jackson’s bandage. Not much later, a rather violent nosebleed followed. While that one could be stemmed with a little magical help, a whole flood of black snot followed. 

“That’s not good,” Isaac muttered, frantically typing away on his phone. “Shit, shit, shit.” 

Jackson, who was standing bent over the sink in the ensuite bathroom and gripping the porcelain so hard his knuckles turned white, gasped, “I’m not turning, am I?” 

“I …” Stiles’ arm around Jackson’s back tightened. “I’m afraid not. That’s exactly what Lydia went through. I’m so sorry.” 

There was a noise by the open door and then Derek said, “The only good thing is that he’s not dead yet and that he’s obviously expelling whatever the alpha bite is made of.” His eyes were wide and vulnerable. “It went much quicker for Paige.” 

Stiles could only swallow around the heavy lump in his throat and nod in grateful acknowledgement. 

From the room, Isaac called, “Peter says to continue with the healing stuff. It might help Jackson along. Also, we’re to remain with him for as long as possible.” 

Jackson heaved and spit out another mouthful of black goo. “We all know that it’s over for me,” he said hoarsely. 

“It’s only over when you’re dead,” Stiles said firmly. “And that won’t happen. Not on my watch. If Lydia can survive this, you can survive this. Or do you really want to make her a teen widow?” 

“We’re not married,” Jackson groaned. He wiped his mouth and grimaced at the black streaks on the back of his hand. 

“You’re as good as, you said so yourself,” Stiles said firmly. “That shit matters, Jackson. _She_ matters.” 

“Also, we matter too,” Derek went on. “We’re not friends, but we could be.” 

“What he said.” Stiles sighed. “This is the moment where I’ll show my bossy side and send you back to bed, Sourwolf. You look like a ghost. I’ll text Erica and ask her to bring food, you obviously need it.” 

“Met too!” Isaac yelled. “I want pastrami sandwiches!” 

Unter Stiles’ hand, Jackson’s ribcage shuddered a little. “I can’t believe I’m saying that, but pastrami sounds pretty good.” 

“Consider it done,” Stiles said. He patted Jackson’s back. “Can you go back to bed, or do you want to hog the bathroom a bit longer?” 

“Give me a bucket and I’m golden,” Jackson sniped. He straightened up, chanced a look at his pasty reflection in the mirror, and blanched even more. “Jesus fucking Christ. My dad will never let me go anywhere alone, ever again.” 

“He’s pretty much the type, yeah,” Stiles muttered and shrugged. “Go back to bed, I’ll bring a bucket and then call Erica. She’ll love bugging Peter.” 

Jackson huddled under the covers, shivery now that the bout of sickness had passed for the moment, and sniffled miserably. Stiles had an eye on him while he called Erica - and he had a grateful grin for Isaac when the teen offered to let Jackson watch anything he wanted on the hospital TV. 

“You okay?” Stiles quietly asked Derek, settling his hand around his friend’s injured neck. “Does it still hurt?” 

“I’m almost healed,” Derek replied, pressing against the warmth of Stiles’s touch. “Food will be good, though. We’re all too weak.” 

Stiles sighed. “I wish I could’ve prevented this.” 

“You will next time,” Derek rumbled, eyes sliding shut when Stiles began to lightly massage his neck. “You’ve got alpha powers now.” 

“Don’t remind me how I came into their possession,” Stiles whispered. He swallowed. “That was pretty gross.” 

“Lou will help with the processing,” Derek told him. “A justified kill doesn’t bother werewolves much. It’s just not in our nature.” 

“Yeah, about that. Lou is rather smug about how he just …” Stiles made a yanking motion with his free hand. On the fingers grew black claws, he didn’t even have to really think about it anymore. “He likes the range of motion he has with the mountain ash. A _lot_.” 

“I’d like it, too,” Derek admitted. He opened his eyes and looked up at Stiles. “I’ve decided to join you and Isaac in your martial arts classes. I need to be better. Not just to help you out, but to protect Erica and Boyd. And Jackson, too, should he decide to join us.” 

“Stiles can behead assholes anytime he wants if it keeps me alive,” Jackson croaked, wide eyes on Stiles’ claws, before abruptly bending over his bucket and retching into it. “God, when will this stop.” 

Since he’d already slapped a red healing card on each of them, Stiles decided to take a moment for himself and write some stuff into the fresh notebook Peter had brought last night with all the other stuff. He had a lot of questions and half-baked ideas on how to help with Jackson’s healing, but he also took the time to write down Erica and Isaac’s ideas for new merchandise and how they could make use of Danny’s skills without allowing him too close, too fast. 

An hour later, there was a knock on the door. 

_Erica and Lydia_ , Lou supplied, his presence sort of sitting up within Stiles. Where Erica was sunshine and music, Lydia felt like a deep, lonely wood just after a satisfying rain, all green and smelling of petrichor, but also like decay and the thrilling presence of _other_ … and death. 

_Banshee_ , Lou rumbled. 

_Yes, banshee_ , Stiles agreed. 

He let the girls in. While Erica busied herself with unpacking and handing out the food Peter had made for them, Lydia headed straight to Jackson and pulled him into a too-tight embrace. His pale face was squished against her chest and her small fingers held his head in a death grip. Stiles felt a little envious and a whole lot relieved that Lydia had chosen to demonstrate her affection for Jackson so unambiguously. He was even more relieved when Jackson wound both arms around Lydia’s hips after a second and pulled her even closer. 

“ _That_ ,” Lydia snarled and indicated Jackson’s bandaged shoulder, “won’t happen again. Not _ever_.” 

“Not if we can in any way help it, no,” Stiles replied. Her challenging stare unsurprisingly roused Lou and a second later Stiles’ eyes were glowing red. He snorted at her shock. “Those alpha douchebags surprised us, but next time we’ll be prepared.” 

“Good. If Jackson dies, you’ll _end_ them, or I’ll do it myself,” Lydia hissed. “Promise me, Stiles.” 

Erica raised her hand. “Seconded. And I’ll help.” At everyone’s sceptical faces, she shrugged. “What? I hate bullies, and those guys are the worst. If it takes death to get rid of them, I’m fine with that. As long as I don’t have to do something icky, that is. Alibis and stuff I can do like _whoa_.” 

“There are unknown depths to you, Catwoman,” Stiles said admiringly, hot eyes appraising her. With Lou’s help, he could almost see the determination swirling around her. It was as heady as it was confusing. 

Erica preened under his praise. “You ain’t seen nothing yet, Batman.” 

Lydia released Jackson from her fierce embrace without letting him go completely, her unrelenting stare still on Stiles. “Yes, you ain’t seen nothing yet. Whatever you need to make them go away, I’ll do my best to provide.” 

**End of chapter 61**


	62. Chapter 62

**Chapter 62**

Dr Lee managed to get them all released from the hospital on Monday morning. There was some disbelief among the personnel about the condition of everyone’s injuries, but a second and even a third opinion on the bite and slash wounds brought about the same results: Derek, Isaac, and Jackson were fit enough to recover in their own homes, and so home they went. 

“I had a long and _enlightening_ talk with Peter Hale and the sheriff last night,” Dr Lee, who had accompanied them to the exit, murmured. “You’ll need to be more careful if you want to keep flying below the radar.” 

“Holy shit, Peter’s moving fast,” Stiles exclaimed. “And you haven’t run screaming?” 

Dr Lee smiled at that. “I had a hunch that something special was going on after witnessing first-hand how fast you were healing. I _was_ surprised that you’re not actually like the Hales. Anyway, I strongly recommended employing a private physician going forward, maybe even building up a small private practice for your unique needs. As your pack grows, you’ll need someone to create paperwork for the mundane world and deal with emergencies as they relate to your kind.” 

Stiles looked at the doctor intently. “You haven’t volunteered, have you?” 

“No,” Dr Lee replied, still smiling faintly. “Nor will I do so in the future. But I know a few individuals who might fill that position or positions admirably. Peter knows to call me when he wants to move forward on that. In the meantime, I’ve volunteered to treat the … pack as needed and act as a shield.” 

“Thank you, doctor,” Derek said quietly. “We appreciate your helpfulness.” 

“And the hospital appreciates the generous donations your uncle will make in the coming years,” Dr Lee returned mildly, but with a twinkle in his dark eyes. “Now get out of here, and don’t forget to look miserable for at least two weeks whenever you’re out and about in town. The news about the bear attack won’t get old anytime soon.” 

Derek and Isaac were staring at Stiles, and the teen sighed, “ _Yes_ , I’ll research glamours next.” 

Dr Lee looked intrigued but Derek wound his arm around Stiles’ shoulder and led him out of the hospital. 

oOo

They dropped off Jackson first and left him with a half dozen red healing cards and strict instructions to call if his condition worsened. 

“There’ll also be mandatory hanging out so I can do my healing mojo,” Stiles added. While he and Jackson had never been friendly, the guy was now firmly one of his people. It didn’t matter that neither of them had planned for that. “So take our calls or else.” 

“You’ll hunt me down like an animal?” Jackson quipped, mouth quirking up in a sardonic smile. 

Stiles pointed at him. “Exactly. And believe me, my animal guys are faster and more ruthless than you.” 

They parted ways then and retreated to Peter’s apartment. Neither Isaac nor Derek wanted to be alone yet, despite the enforced togetherness of the last two days. Stiles made them lunch and spent the afternoon discussing ideas and strategies with Isaac. Derek crashed on Peter’s suede couch, looking like a slightly pale GQ model. Of all of them, his wounds had healed the best so far. Only the punctures in his neck were still a little iffy, but even those were healing quickly. 

In the evening, Erica and Boyd joined them. Boyd remained mute after having had to coral unruly children all day on the roller rink, but Erica was bubbling with creative energy. 

“Everyone in favour of making Erica our second creative consultant raise your paw,” Stiles said after yet another newly filled page in Isaac’s notebook. 

Everyone raised a hand, even Derek who otherwise still appeared asleep. 

“Great, you’re hired,” Stiles told Erica. “Peter will talk about the contract with you.” 

“Seriously?” Erica squeaked. “Just like that?” 

“Dude, we started all of this _just like that_ ,” Isaac said. “You’ve got good ideas, and Stiles will need help reading books and developing stuff. I’m nearly booked solid just drawing things.” 

“Wow, I.” Erica bit her lip and huffed. “Just, wow.” 

“Do you have a job for me as well?” Boyd asked. 

Stiles pursed his lips. “Well, Peter’s got enough money to pay you, and you helped a lot with the ward stones. Would you be willing to do more of the boring work? I thought about offering ward stones in our shop and I could never paint them all by myself to satisfy demand. Some help with that would be awesome.” 

“I’d do anything that needed to be done, as long as it isn’t overly creative,” Boyd asserted. “I’m no good at that. But I’ll give your stones a base colour, or carry stuff, or drive wherever to deliver things. Whatever you need.” 

Stiles and Isaac exchanged a look that merely consisted of two sets of raised eyebrows. 

Then, Stiles said, “Welcome aboard. You talk about a contract with Peter since that’s his area of expertise, but I promise that you won’t work for the minimum wage. Downside: you’ll definitely earn that money.” 

They all shook hands on that and the evening ended late and on a high note. 

oOo

It turned out that Boyd was a _fantastic_ employee. By Friday, he and Erica had negotiated and signed their contracts with their guardians’ approval. Like all of them, they earned a fairly obscene hourly wage of thirty dollars _after_ taxes, with a percentage of the shop’s profits on top of that for the duration of their contract. 

“Thirty dollars an hour just for painting rocks,” Boyd muttered as he steadily worked his way through the small sets of ward stones Stiles was creating. Each set only consisted of thirteen stones, and each of them would get a different base colour. 

“You're still not over that?” Stiles asked, grinning. He sent his latest snarky message to Jackson, who was still coughing up black sludge but didn’t feel too awful otherwise. Stiles’ daily pilgrimage to breakfast at the Whittemores’ house with a side order of healing spells was - thankfully - seeing to that. 

“I might believe it when I check my account in a week,” Boyd retorted. He shook his head. “Seriously, _painting stones_.” 

“So far, I’m having fun,” Erica cackled and showed off her latest dick painting. “Can I get an employee discount for a set for myself? My parents would _hate_ them.” 

“Yeah, and you’d better do it before we raise our prices,” Isaac replied with a smirk. “The dick wards seem to be popular.” 

Erica cackled again and the two exchanged a high-five. 

Stiles was glad to have included this adult version for the ward stones in the shop. It was meant to be an in-joke, something to keep Erica entertained on the days when they didn’t have any creative consulting going on, but someone had actually bought the first experimental set the next day and two different people had messaged to ask whether more would be available soon. It honestly boggled the mind. 

“Do you think we can lure Lydia into painting rocks?” Erica asked as she set her finished purple and gold stone onto the drying rack. “It’s not that I don’t have fun with you guys, but I offered to spend time with her and she doesn’t seem to have that many female friends. Maybe she’d like something to do, other than spending time with Whittemore and having her nails done. Plus, since she’s apparently magic she could learn stuff about herself and what she can do. She said she wanted to.” 

“I wanted to give her some time after our run-in with the alpha morons, but you can ask no problem,” Stiles answered. “We have enough work so it wouldn’t be a stretch to offer her a temp contract.” 

“Peter gave him carte blanche,” Isaac explained when Erica looked surprised at Stiles’ easy acceptance so soon after bringing her and Boyd on board. “Plus, sales are already picking up. I thought we’d have to wait longer for people to find us, but apparently not.” 

“Yeah, I saw that we’re almost out of origami animals,” Stiles said. “If that continues, we need to hire someone to help with the folding next.” 

“We could do with a house elf,” Erica giggled. She stretched out her back and sighed happily. “This is amazing. Easily the best summer job I’ll ever have.” 

“And the best thing is that we’re still going out later to have fun,” Stiles said. He set his phone aside and took the next sheet of paper for folding. “As soon as Derek’s back from the post office.” 

Boyd shook his head. “There must be a better way to arrange delivery than sending Derek all the way to Redding. The dude will get tired of driving in no time.” 

“We’ll figure something out,” Stiles assured him. “Right now it’s the best we can do. Our security is more important than efficiency.” 

“Speaking of which, is there any news about Danny?” Erica asked. “There’s a loose cannon if I ever saw one.” 

“Peter’s not saying much about it but I do know that he’s in contact with Danny,” Stiles said. He set his folded monkey aside and chose a pink square of paper next. For some reason, fancy flamingos in different poses were quite popular. “Seems like Danny’s serious about wanting in. I don’t even know why.” 

“Maybe he has the hots for Derek and Peter,” Erica guessed. She looked meaningfully at Stiles. “He wouldn’t be the only one, now would he?” 

“Ugh, can you stop reminding me?” Stiles muttered. 

“Yes, stop reminding him,” Boyd agreed. “I’m done with the ultramarine set but I don’t think there’s enough of the sunshine yellow left for the last set.” 

“I’ll get more with the next order,” Isaac promised, already reaching for his laptop to put the paint in his shopping basket. “Just take the lemon yellow instead.” 

They worked for another quarter-hour, not talking much. But then Erica was done with her rock and sat back with a great huff. 

“This Danny thing is making me nervous,” she said, picking up their conversation from before and crossing her arms with a pout. “What do we even know about him, other than that he has great dimples and is good with computers?” 

“Well, he lives in a three-generation house,” Stiles offered. “And he’s got an older brother that has already moved out. He got caught cyber-snooping once and had to do community work. The file is sealed but my dad’s got an eye on him ever since.” 

“I was a little surprised that you didn’t give him any slack,” Boyd said. He placed the last rock of his set on the drying rack and looked intently at Stiles. “In school, it always seemed like you hoped he’d become your friend.” 

Stiles grimaced. “I know. I’m still cringing a little thinking about it.” 

“You don’t need to,” Erica said softly. “I think we all know how hard it is to have few friends. Or none at all. At least you tried, Batman, and Danny wasn’t a bad choice. Even if he isn’t interested, he isn’t an asshole about it. Not even to Greenburg, and he deserves all the flak he’s getting.” 

“Harsh,” Stiles muttered, grinning with relief. “But also true.” 

“Well, now that I know him a little better, I wouldn’t consider Danny prime friend material,” Isaac huffed. “He’s just as self-absorbed as Jackson, in his own way. When he cornered Stiles at Lydia’s party, he mentioned wanting to know what was going on in Beacon Hills so he could keep his family safe, but I call bullshit on that. Why would anyone in his family come into conflict with werewolves or hunters?” 

“True. Unless …” Erica bit her lip. “Unless they were somehow _other_ as well. I mean, it _could_ be, couldn’t it? No one knew about the Hales either, until Peter woke up from his coma and decided to go avenging.” 

“Derek’s already scoped his place out and couldn’t find anything strange, but maybe there is more to it than just a general worry for his family,” Isaac allowed, although he didn’t look very happy about it. “Though if that’s the case, they’re damn good at hiding it.” 

“Peter’s on it so I’m willing to table this for now,” Stiles told them, not in the mood to speculate about Danny any longer. “I’d much rather fight out where we’re gonna buy our snacks later.” 

“Hale made food,” Boyd pointed out. 

Stiles snorted. “Food is food and snacks are snacks. But don’t worry, you’ll learn. So, I’m voting for the Panetteria. It’s on the way and they have these amazing little panini and cakes.” 

“Marsha’s,” Isaac countered. “What’s your favourite, Boyd?” 

“Whatever Erica can eat,” Boyd replied with a shrug. “I’m not picky.” 

Erica rewarded his chivalry with a loud smack to the cheek and adoring eyes. 

“Looks like Derek’s vote will decide,” Stiles said, taking a colourful paper next and starting to fold a butterfly. “Let’s do another thirty minutes and then we can finally go swimming.” 

oOo

That night, after several hours of swimming and play fighting in the lake, Stiles slept like a log. 

That is until Lou jerked him awake, claws out and growl reverberating through Stiles’ mind. 

“What the hell?” Stiles cried. The wolf spirit in his head didn’t even really allow for disorientation; all his senses immediately latched onto the irregularity in his room’s make-up. 

There, in the darkest corner, a figure was standing very still, large, reflecting eyes staring unblinkingly at him. 

Stiles’ own burning eyes nearly popped from their sockets and shock shot its adrenaline-fuelled heat into even the tiniest muscle fibre.

It took embarrassingly long to regain his composure and realize that his window was open. The thick line of mountain ash warding off the room was undisturbed, which made the whole thing even more surreal. 

_Not foe, but dangerous_ , Lou rumbled. _Very dangerous. Careful. Not human._

Stiles acknowledged the information and slowly got into a low crouch. “Hello there,” he said as soothingly as he could. 

The figure didn’t move from its spot in the shadows. Only its highly reflective eyes were visible, and they were following Stiles’ every move. 

“You found me, and my wards didn’t keep you out,” Stiles said. “That means that you’re sort of a friend. Am I right?” 

There was a slight head tilt. 

“Alright. That’s good! Well, you’re here now, so why don’t you introduce yourself?” Stiles went on, optimizing his crouch for maximum attack value while at the same time trying to look as unthreatening as possible. “I’m Stiles, although you probably knew that already.” 

_No name_ , _no scent,_ Lou growled. _Empty. But curious. We are wary._

_Yes, very_. Stiles swallowed. “My friend tells me that you haven’t got a name?” 

A low hiss sounded now, and the figure shuffled a little closer. In the weak light coming in through the window, the curve of its skull gleamed a little without giving anything away. Stiles couldn’t even make out the skin tone, which was beyond frustrating. 

“That’s not a problem,” Stiles said calmly. “It just means that we can decide on a name together. Whatcha wanna be called? Any ideas?” 

Another hiss, but at least it didn’t sound threatening. 

“The language barrier could be a problem,” Stiles mused, now tilting his own head consideringly. “I’ll come up with something if that’s alright with you. It’d be good to get a visual on you, though. Just to get an idea of what would be appropriate. I wouldn’t wanna call you Snufflepuff when you’re a big bad yeti, you know. Although yetis probably give great hugs, so it might not be completely dumb.” 

The figure in the shadow suddenly moved _up_. Swiftly, the gleaming eyes rose to the ceiling. Seconds later and lightning-fast, a dark, humanoid body glided in one slick move along the wall and through the open window, leaving Stiles alone without so much as a by your leave. 

Speechless, Stiles stared after his nocturnal guest. 

“He had a _tail_!” he said to Lou, flabbergasted. “What the hell?!” 

oOo

Peter wasn’t amused about the late-night visit at all. He liked it even less that Lou wasn’t able to offer any sort of identifying information on the lizard man, except that he was, apparently, a giant supernatural lizard. 

“At least we know that he can jump easily to the ceiling, and run along walls like a gecko,” Stiles said, trying and failing not to feel flattered and reassured by Peter’s growly macho posturing. Across the kitchen table, his father was rubbing his temples tiredly. “And I repeat, he wasn’t out to hurt me. The wards on the house would’ve never let him in if that had been the case.” 

“He crossed a mountain ash barrier!” Peter snapped, eyes glowing brightly. “That’s not just unusual, that’s unheard of! No supernatural being can do that; that’s the whole _point_!” 

“Yeah, but you forget that I’m magic,” Stiles countered. At both his father and Peter’s unimpressed looks, he explained, “I just mean that something in my wards obviously allowed him to come through. Like, maybe he was seeking shelter or something. You know I’ve begun dabbling in intent-based wards. They might’ve gone a bit wonky.” 

“I do not begrudge you your new friends,” John said after a pregnant pause, “but I ask that you do not adopt more strays in the foreseeable future. I’m still … saturated, for lack of a better word.” 

“I know, dad.” Stiles _did_ know. His dad was doing his very best to understand what all of this pack business meant to Stiles, and his quiet support meant the world. Trying not to attract more trouble was the least Stiles could do to repay his kindness. “I’ll try to tweak the wards so that he can’t come into the house again.” 

His father nodded, relief making his weary face look even more tired. 

“For what it’s worth, I have no earthly idea what’s going on,” Stiles continued. “That lizard guy obviously isn’t one of the alpha pack, and as I said, he wasn’t even verbal. He was just … there. And when I asked him to show himself, he noped out and slithered away.” 

Peter’s eyes narrowed. “I can’t believe that this thing is _shy_.” 

“Shy isn’t quite right,” Stiles replied, cocking his head in thought. “More like reserved, maybe? He had no problem staring at me. And he sort of listened to what I was saying. The more I think about it, the more I believe that he understood me. He just didn’t want to engage.” 

“Very curious,” Peter muttered. 

“If it will help you sleep at night, I can hook up a camera,” Stiles offered. “Maybe he’ll be back, although I wouldn’t count on it.” 

“I’d be glad if that were the case,” his father admitted. “I’m sort of used to werewolves now. Lizard people are a bit much. And also, I’m not okay with giving Hale here a free show.” 

Peter’s red-eyed gaze settled on the sheriff and a dangerous smile showed off far more sharp teeth than Stiles was comfortable with. 

“Dad, I wouldn’t live-stream it!” Stiles squawked. “Can you just not with the wild accusations, please? Oh my god!” 

John sat frozen, only to slap both hands in front of his face and shaking his head. “I’m sorry. I’m tired and freaked out. Don’t mind me, I’m not thinking clearly. Sorry.” 

“I wish the guys from the FBI would let you get some real sleep,” Stiles huffed, willing the mortified blush to vanish from his cheeks. “Seriously, it’s not funny!” 

“I’m the only one who can get those Lobos guys to talk,” John mumbled, still hunched over miserably. “I wish I could read a couple more people in, just to teach them the runes and convince them that using them is the right thing to do.” 

“Yeah, no, not gonna happen with so many strange faces in town,” Stiles said at once. “But I’m sick and tired of seeing you like this.” He tapped his father’s ankle with his foot. “Can you get me into the interview rooms without people seeing me? I can kit them out with the truth runes. Might be a better solution in the long term, anyway.” 

The sheriff perked up at this, his expression so pathetically hopeful that it almost hurt to look at him. “Could you really do that?” 

Stiles forced himself to remain calm. “Just watch me. And no, I don’t particularly care that this is technically forcing people to compromise themselves. I’m not forcing them to talk, but when they do talk, they’ll tell you guys the truth.” 

“I’m not against that at all,” Peter said. “But you should factor in the human element. Even LEOs are not above abusing their power, so you should make sure that your truth magic only pertains to police work.” 

“Yeah, of course.” Stiles picked up his phone and wrote himself a memo. “I’ll start immediately and let you know when I’m ready for a visit, dad.” 

“I should probably protest, but I’m just grateful,” his father admitted. His shoulders slumped as he relaxed. “Finding ways to stamp our prisoners without the deputies noticing was becoming a bit of a challenge. I do have a rather bright bunch at the station, after all.” 

Stiles hooked his foot around his dad’s ankle and smiled warmly. “I’m sorry I haven’t thought of this sooner, but it’ll be alright now. As soon as they notice that every cop will be able to make those locust guys talk, you’ll be back to normal hours.” 

“I really hope so, kiddo. It’ll be good to spend at least part of the summer together. I owe you three trips to San Francisco as it is; it’s about time I finally make good on my promises.” 

Stiles practically glowed at the look of parental love and pride on his father’s face. “I’ll hold you to that, daddio.” 

And just like that the day was looking up again, mysterious visitors and yet more work notwithstanding. Stiles found that he could easily deal with all of that, as long as it made the people he loved - and himself - happy. 

**End of chapter 62**


	63. Chapter 63

**Chapter 63**

“A _cabin of truth_ would be dead useful if we ever have to interrogate someone,” Isaac said as he watched Stiles write his runes in the corners of the first of three interrogation rooms the sheriff station had. “I bet Peter will ask you to make one as soon as he’s bought a couple more properties. He’s taking the whole bolthole thing super seriously after his run-in with the Loco Lolitas.” 

“Maybe we shouldn’t talk about this here,” Stiles replied dryly. “What with the police force just a step away and everything.” 

Isaac shrugged. “You made sure that almost no one’s around, and your dad switched off the cameras. Also, you let Derek loose on the front desk crew. His distraction game borders on the unholy, seriously.” 

“I’ll still hurry in case some well-meaning deputy decides to keep us company on our tour.” Stiles finished and capped his sharpy. “The grey of the sharpy blends okay with the colour of the wall, but I’d better suggest a fresh paint job. My dad should be able to fund it.” 

“It doesn’t matter if the runes are covered?” Isaac wanted to know. He slid off the table and joined Stiles by the door. “That’s pretty great.” 

Stiles grinned. “Hiding isn’t one of nature’s best defence strategies for nothing. As long as I know that the runes are in the room, they’ll work.” 

“I foresee an age of virtually no unsolved crime for Beacon Hills,” Isaac said with a little snort. “The coming generations of delinquents won’t thank you for it.” 

“Eh, it might teach people to keep their mouth shut,” Stiles retorted. “Never a bad skill to cultivate.” 

They left the room and went into the next, repeating the process quickly and efficiently. It hadn’t exactly been pure dumb luck to find all three interrogation rooms empty at this time of the day because two-thousand dollars in Marsha’s greedy little brownie hand had seen to an unprecedented ‘sale’ at her bakery that everyone simply had to take advantage of. It was for in-house customers only, too, so no take-away for the good law enforcement officers that ordinarily would have had better things to do. 

Stiles smirked. LEOs were rather predictable, even the FBI guys. Even better, in small cities like Beacon Hills news travelled fast on where to find the best foodstuffs. 

Only ten minutes later they were done with the interrogation rooms, exclaimed excitedly over Isaac’s _positive experience_ and tentative plans to return for an internship, and left a while later with the promise to buy more danishes for those who really, really couldn’t leave their desks, no matter how much they wanted to. 

After their return and successful bribery of everyone, they dragged Derek out and all three of them booked it to Peter’s apartment, where a late lunch was already waiting for them. 

oOo

“The summer’s passing so quickly,” Stiles sighed, lovingly patting his full belly. Today’s fare had been roast vegetables with blue cheese sauce and steak bites. While somewhat unconventional, it had been delicious. “Only four more weeks.” 

“I’m not looking forward to school either,” Isaac agreed. “I like working on things for the shop and our pack comic.” 

“You need to spend more time just having fun,” Peter told them as he expertly served them cups of fragrant espresso to go with their dessert. “No need to look so disbelieving, I’m serious. You’ve all worked hard and had a lot of excitement in the last month. It’s time that you kicked back a little and just had a summer holiday.” 

“I don’t think that’s gonna fly,” Stiles said mournfully. “The shop is doing pretty well. If we want to keep the momentum, we’re gonna have to keep up with production.” 

“You don’t _have_ to do a damn thing,” Peter replied mildly. He stirred a spoonful of sugar into his coffee and inhaled the aroma with a pleased hum. “You’ve already proven that people are interested. I’m responsible for your wellbeing and it is my opinion that you need a little time just for yourself. Plus, my dear nephew has run himself ragged these last few days sending off the orders.” 

“I don’t mind the driving,” Derek replied, “but it won’t be long until my Camaro won’t be enough to carry the mail. We’ll have to buy a bigger car soon, something practical that’s easily forgotten.” 

Stiles pursed his lips. It was getting damned hard to ignore Peter’s bedroom face … and he increasingly didn’t want to, which made it even worse. Isaac certainly liked to remind him of his unfortunate crush at the most inopportune times. “Well, if our esteemed financier thinks so …” 

“I do,” Peter asserted, lips curling in that blood pressure-raising little grin he had. “You two, and Erica and Derek as well, are delightfully creative, but you’ll burn yourself out if you don’t learn to pace yourself. Until you can reliably do that, it’s my job to remind you to take it easy every now and then. Besides ...” he raised his eyebrows and toasted them with his tiny coffee cup, “the Argent money came through, in just the manner we decided on. We are in no hurry whatsoever to make a profit, and we can hire people as needed as soon as you’re done with school.” 

“Why not sooner?” Isaac asked, confused. 

Peter shrugged elegantly. “Call me whimsical, but I do love a good origin story. Instead of blasting right out the gate, it’d be more rewarding to build your reputation slowly. In my opinion, it’s better to take your customers on your journey alongside you. It’ll stir up excitement and at the same time build up their loyalty.” 

“We’re on a good way already, though,” Isaac said. “We’ve had half a dozen return customers for healing cards and origami wards.” 

“Customer loyalty doesn’t just mean income, it also provides a certain amount of protection,” Peter explained. “If people like you and are invested in your vision, they’re more likely to reach out if they learn of a threat to you. Such devotion can hardly be overestimated in our circles.” 

“Huh, that’s true,” Stiles admitted. “I guess I’m sold. I didn’t want my summer to be all about work, anyway. You?” 

Isaac grinned. “Yeah, I can get behind that. We’ll have one of the _best_ origin stories, dude.” 

“I wouldn’t say no to a slower pace either. I’ve begun clearing up the garden at the house,” Derek added. “I’d like to finish with that and have the area warded before Deaton decides to raid our whole property.” 

“Yeah, I can see that happening. Just holler and I’ll be there, Sourwolf,” Stiles said. “Maybe we should design a meme, just for that. Something like _Venom Wolf To The Rescue_!” 

“Venom Wolf is not as cool as you think it is,” Isaac snorted. In one gulp, he downed his coffee and finally went to town on his strawberry panna cotta. 

Stiles, who was a little shit even on good days, used Lou to snag the little dessert spoon right out of Isaac’s hand. Just because he could, he then stole the dessert too and took a healthy bite of what Isaac had left. “It really is that cool, and you know it.” 

From across the table, Peter was observing their little tousle, his eyes red and his smile fond. 

oOo

Working at a slower pace did not mean that there wasn’t any work to be done, but as agreed Stiles held off on adding new products to the shop. Instead, he and his friends used their allotted four hours per weekday to build up a stock. At first, their finished bracelets, ward stone sets, and origami animals didn’t seem to fill the workshop’s shelves at all, until suddenly they _did_. 

It soon became apparent that none of the five had any real talent or desire to truly organise their stuff. Having been rebuffed the week before, Erica again tried to recruit Lydia for their cause, and this time Lydia accepted and promptly came over for an inspection. 

When questioned why, she answered, “My parents finally admitted out loud that they’re getting a divorce. My mom will be set, but it’s questionable whether my sperm donor will keep his promise and pay for my college education. Therefore I need to earn money quickly because I refuse to live on junk food.” 

“And we refuse to let this place go to the wolves,” Stiles said. He showed her the shelves they had filled already. “Right now it’s easy to keep up with the admin stuff, but that’ll change. We’re building up our supply and need to organize. Everyone hates it, so it’s gonna be your job.” 

Lydia pursed her red lips and appraised the workshop. “It’s doable. I want a computer and an electronic tracking system. If I’m going to do it, I’m going to do it right. I’ll also take over the books. I assume that that’s been Isaac’s job so far?” 

“Yes, it was, and you’re welcome to it,” Isaac said gratefully. “I’ll give you access to the shop’s Etsy account. We have a list of what we do and don’t offer right now and what each of us excels in.” 

Stiles rubbed his neck a little self-consciously. “There’s a whole folder with information and instructions. That needs to get organized as well. Sorry.” 

Lydia flicked that away with a dainty wave of her hand. “It’ll take me a week at most to make your business as efficient as can be. Now, who will buy me that electronic tracking system?” 

Stiles went with Lydia through the shop while his friends worked on their projects and explained their workflow. Lydia mostly listened and made notes, then retreated to the free computer on the corner table away from the large workbench and began to type. 

oOo 

That same night, Lou once again woke Stiles, murmuring, _Blank lizard inside again, not dangerous_. 

_Thanks, buddy. We’ll say hello and see how that goes._

“You’re back,” Stiles murmured sleepily, squinting out of warm eyes at the figure in the shadows. Lou’s alpha powers revealed nothing special, only some sort of aura which Stiles interpreted as the heat signature of their visitor. “How are you? Doing good?” 

A low hiss sounded through the silent room. 

“You know, unfortunately, I don’t speak lizard, but I hope that means yes.” With mountain ash crawling over his skin, Stiles felt warm and safe. He tapped the end of his bed with his foot. “Why don’t you sit down for a bit? I wanna tell you what names I’ve come up with.” 

For a long minute, the silence was oppressive, but then the figure slowly inched out of the shadows. First, a bald, scaly head with glowing yellow eyes became visible. The skin was dappled with dark spots and the shark-like teeth were gleaming in the weak light. 

“Oh my god, you look like Voldemort _wishes_ he would look like,” Stiles blurted. 

The lizard man paused, eyes narrowing suspiciously. 

“Seriously,” Stiles went on. “You look completely badass!” Lou formed a black clawed glove on his hand as he waved the lizard guy closer. “Come on, let me check out the rest of you.” 

It took a long minute, but the lizard man did come closer and perched himself in a crouch on the very end of Stiles’ bed. 

“So you look absolutely, if weirdly, awesome,” Stiles told him after a thorough inspection. “Your tail is the bomb! How mobile is it? Can you wag it, or use it like a tentacle or what?” 

The lizard hissed again and then, to Stiles’ surprised delight, waved his tail around and curled it to show off its range of motion. 

A grin broke out on Stiles’ face. “Fantastic! I have mountain ash and my wolf spirit. His name is Lou. Maybe I can talk him into giving me a mountain ash tail - we could be bros!” 

The lizard tilted its head consideringly and then, with a sudden swish, curled its tail around its body so the tip touched Stiles’ knee. 

“Right now?” Stiles asked. “Uhm, okay. Why not?” _You up for this, Lou? I think he wants to play._

Instead of answering in his mind, the mountain ash largely rushed from Stiles’ torso and formed into a long panther’s tail at the base of his spine that curled along Stiles’ folded leg and around the tail tip of their visitor. 

“Huh, I can feel that!” Stiles exclaimed, shocked. “You’re warm and dry, just like a snake.” He concentrated and managed to drag his new tail along the lizard’s tail in an exploratory touch. “I gotta say that I love this whole magic gig.” 

A low hiss cut through the nightly silence and some of Stiles’ elation evaporated. 

“Aw, you don’t?” he asked, disappointed. “What’s wrong? Is that why you’re here?” 

The lizard withdrew its tail and curled it tightly around its feet. To Stiles, he looked almost sullen. 

“Okay, so you’ve got a problem,” Stiles managed to say without laughing. Because damn, a sulking lizard dude shouldn’t be so funny. “That’s okay. I told you, my wards are pretty good, so if you were an evil mofo you wouldn’t be here.” He recalled the mountain ash and felt it settle over his back like a warm blanket. “I don’t know if I can help since you’re not exactly verbal, but I can try.” 

The lizard’s yellow eyes bored into Stiles’. It took forever, but finally, he chirped out an enquiring hiss. 

“Even if you’re just looking for some company, I and my friends are good for that,” Stiles promised. “It’d have to be a hush-hush thing since you’re unfortunately not looking especially human, but that’d still be better than no friends, right? Also, it wouldn’t in any way be because I am ashamed of having a Northern Californian Thicc Skalyboy among my friends, but rather for fear of getting you killed by the police or something. That’d just not be cool, right?” 

Lizard guy let out a loud, affronted sounding mrowl which Stiles took to mean that he found his classification as a Skalyboy, Thicc or otherwise, lacking. 

Ignoring this, Stiles went on, “So how about we meet in the evenings when I’m alone? I’ll tell my friends about you, and once I’m sure that they won’t come in with blazing guns, I’ll introduce you. Maybe finding you a name can be a team effort. Sound good?” 

Apparently, it did sound good because the lizard guy came forward with the same speed as a running gecko and nearly touched Stiles’ nose with his barely existent one. He then raised his left hand, palm very straight and sharp claws carefully pointing slightly backwards. 

“Oh, we’re doing the high-five. Great!” Careful, but with all the enthusiasm he was capable of, Stiles smacked his palm against lizard man’s - and nearly fainted from the rush of _something_ that assaulted him. 

It might have been a second, it might have been ten minutes, but at last, the strange, warm sensation of snakes slithering through Stiles’ whole body passed and his equilibrium returned. 

Somewhat. 

“You’re pack,” Stiles whispered, eyes wide and astounded. “I can feel you!” 

The lizard tilted his head like he was waiting for something. 

“Uhm, thank you. For your trust,” Stiles stammered. His breath caught in his chest and he felt faint. “Oh my god, why do people trust me? I’m an asshole, you can ask anyone.” 

Giving a quiet hiss, the lizard, still so oddly carefully, patted Stiles’ knee with his hand. 

“Right, do not panic in the face of man-sized lizards looking for a pack,” Stiles muttered weakly. “Fuck. My dad will kill me. Uhm.” He took a chance and placed his hand on top of lizard guy’s. It was warm as well, and oddly smooth, almost like sun-warmed polished pebbles. “Maybe we should call it a night so I can wrap my head around this? If you don’t wanna leave, that’s fine. If you’re pack, I’m not gonna send you away. I just need … a bit of space. Time to think.” 

This dismissal was seemingly acceptable to the lizard because he retreated, let out another, far warmer sounding hiss, and quietly left through the window. This time, he even took care to draw it closed again, which what? 

Not being able to help himself, Stiles rubbed his eyes. It was a feeble attempt to make sense of what had just happened, and just for a second, he thought it all might turn out to be a dream. 

But then he noticed his open laptop with the small camera attached to the lid and realized that no, this was not a dream. He really had somehow magically adopted a vicious-looking supernatural lizard. Worse, he had done it almost solely on instinct, without even stopping to think what the others would have to say about it. It wouldn’t be fair to blame that on Lou, however. Stiles was just a sucker for outcasts, as was evidenced by his motley crew of new friends. 

Looking at the camera and doing his best Bambi impersonation, Stiles said, “Please don’t kill me, guys. Dad, you know I’ve always wanted a pet. It’s your own damn fault for not getting me that tortoise back in sixth grade. Good night.” 

With that, he flopped back down, pulled the bed covers up to his ears and willed himself back to sleep before he could freak out after all. 

**End of chapter 63**


	64. Chapter 64

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long one, but I couldn't find a good place to end it sooner so I guess you'll just have to slog through. I hope certain parts of it will make up for it, though. 
> 
> Have fun and stay safe!

**Chapter 64**

Stiles sent Peter the video of his bonding with the lizard man first, right after he woke up the next morning, and spent the minutes after that chewing on his nails and calling himself all kinds of stupid. 

Half an hour later, Peter entered his room via the time-honoured route through the window, the sheriff’s orders be damned, and placed himself right in front of the pacing teen. 

“You are absolutely amazing,” Peter told Stiles without so much as a good morning in a low, rumbling voice. His eyes glowed like mystical rubies in the mild morning sunlight and he exuded an air of violent attraction that was nearly impossible for Stiles to parse. 

Chemosignals, it turned out, were _complicated_. 

_Alpha so proud_ , Lou whimpered in delight. _So happy with us_. 

He nearly flooded Stiles’ consciousness with his effusions of pleasure and Stiles found himself almost involuntarily reacting in a very physical way. 

He blushed hotly and averted his own hot, red gaze from Peter’s face in mortification. 

“Oh _sweetheart_ ,” Peter purred, “none of that now.” He took both of Stiles’ lax and slightly sweaty hands in his and raised them to his lips. 

Stiles’ mouth dropped open as Peter placed a long kiss to the knuckles of each of them, all the while staring at Stiles in undisguised and slightly predatory desire. 

“Wha … _why_?” Stiles stammered. The feel of Peter’s warm, soft lips and stubble on the back of his hands was sending his overwhelmed mind into spasms of incredulity - and it didn’t help him calm down either. At _all_. “I did something stupid. Again. Didn’t I?” 

“You,” Peter murmured, eyes blazing, “attracted a _kanima_ to our pack. Instead of subjugating it like a master is meant to do, you invited it to join the pack and it _accepted_.” 

“I, uh, I guess I did, but a what is he now? A kanima?” Stiles asked. The heat was wandering from his face down to his chest and arms and the mountain ash on him was crawling over his hands to Peter, entrapping the werewolf in its needy grip. “And what about this master stuff?” 

“I’ll explain it in depth tonight when the whole pack is present,” Peter said. “For now it’s enough to know that kanimas are magnificent and terrifying fighters; stealthy, odourless, and equipped with a powerful natural paralytic that they use on their quarry before tearing them apart. They’re absolutely deadly, and normally they do not join with someone like this one did with you. Kanimas are wired to accept a master and do their bidding unquestionably.” 

The happy, floaty feeling in Stiles soured a little. “I knew that he was dangerous, Lou told me, but he could cross my wards when they’re built to use lethal force against violent threats. I just knew he wouldn’t harm me or my dad. Not that that will fly with him; he’ll be furious when he sees the video.” 

“I don’t think so, at least not for long,” Peter replied, smiling sharply before placing another lingering kiss on Stiles’ knuckles. He seemed not at all concerned about the mountain ash circling and covering his arms. “Because with your special brand of luck, you’ve not only managed to win the pack a most efficient fighter, you also managed to bind not one but two rather valuable members to us for the foreseeable future.” 

“One must be Lydia, because _duh_ , banshee and organizer of the gods. But the other? Surely you don’t mean Danny because you’re right when you say that his skills are a dime a dozen for the right price. That only leaves ...” Stiles frowned, only to gasp in shock. “Oh my god. _Jackson_? Jackson is the Scalyboy? _How_? Yesterday he was still spewing black gunk!” 

“Hmm, I do so love your quick mind,” Peter said huskily, eyes nearly burning into Stiles’. “And I _promise_ to satisfy it tonight.” 

_I wish you would satisfy something else_ , Stiles thought, squirming. The teen was overwhelmed with another billow of Peter’s unique and oh so appealing scent of beguiling warmth and approval, spiced up with ramped up hormones and a dash of giddy disbelief at his good fortune. Nearly insensible with echoed amazement he choked out, “How will we tell him?” 

“We’ll talk it out tonight with the pack and inform Jackson and Lydia when we’ve come to a decision,” Peter hummed. “Mr Mahealani will keep for as long as we need him to.” 

They stood like this for a few more moments, breathing each other in and staring at each other with barely a blink obstructing the view. Stiles’ wolf spark wouldn’t let him look away again, not after Stiles’ surprised embarrassment earlier, and his confidence both banked and fanned the glow of attraction between them. 

Stiles thought he would combust from it; his brain nearly felt aflame with the overload of roaring _feelings_. It was such a surprise that Peter seemed just as caught up in it that Stiles could hardly breathe for it. 

At last, however, the intensity between them lessened and altered into something more bearable. Peter let go of Stiles’ hands and instead pulled the teen into a tight embrace and scented him for long minutes along the cheeks and both sides of his neck. 

For his part, Stiles simply clung to Peter’s unfairly broad and attractive shoulders and tried to commit this extraordinary moment to memory. Just for a minute, he imagined what it would be like to actually be _held_ by this man, to have his stubbled chin rub against the soft skin of his neck as he nipped and licked his throat to create a love bite to end all love bites. 

His little shiver brought about the end of their embrace, the mountain ash slowly returning from Peter’s skin, and Stiles couldn’t quite hide his disappointment. 

Peter didn’t say anything about it, just cupped Stiles’ face with his warm palm and nearly brushed his lower lip with his thumb. “I’ll text you a time for tonight. And if you want my advice: wait until after your breakfast to break the news to your father. He _will_ be furious for a little while, but you needn’t weather this storm on an empty stomach … or alone.” 

“I don’t know, Derek might be even more furious,” Stiles admitted, biting his lip worriedly. “He made me promise to be careful and I really wasn’t.” 

“He might be angry initially, but you’re his to protect, so he will. And contrary to your father he will immediately recognize what an enormous boon this will be to us. He is not one to disregard such things. His mother trained him too well for that.” 

“Your word in their ears, dude,” Stiles sighed. He rubbed his face with a slightly shaky hand and grimaced. “Fucking hell. Jackson just _had_ to be the extra-est dude to extra.” 

Peter smirked. “I’ll leave you to your father’s tender mercies now, but Derek will be over soon.” 

“Why can’t you stay?” Stiles asked with a hopeful pout. “If Dad’s gonna shoot someone, it might as well be you.” 

“Is that so?” Peter asked, amused and just a bit threatening. 

Stiles huffed. “You at least won’t die. Me? Not so much, not even with Lou’s help and your nifty body armour shirts. At least I don’t think so; my dad knows his stuff.” 

The werewolf’s smirk widened. “Ruthless _and_ honest. I adore that about you, darling. Unfortunately, I’m needed at David’s office in town today to finalize the paperwork for my return to society. After that, I’m finally free to show my face wherever I want … and I will catch any bullets for you that need catching.” 

“My hero,” Stiles grinned, relieved. “Alright then, I’ll go make breakfast and face the music. See you tonight.” 

Peter’s red eyes roved over Stiles’ face and swept along his body before he replied, “Yes, you will.” 

Then he left and Stiles lost no time in barricading himself in the bathroom and relieving that unbearable _tension_ Peter’s closeness had caused. 

oOo

Stiles knew that his father knew that Stiles had something to tell him that warranted pulling out all the stops for breakfast. Derek knew it, too, because he had brought a basket full of the things needed to pull out all the stops for breakfast. 

That didn’t keep the sheriff from enjoying his treat to the fullest; it was exceedingly rare that Stiles made him waffles and bacon _and_ scrambled eggs, never mind topping that off with fresh guacamole, sirup, actually tasty low carb toast and that artisan salted butter both Stilinskis couldn’t get enough of. 

Too soon, however, the delicious food was gone and the tentative truce between Stiles and his dad ended. 

“Well?” John asked after taking his last sip of gourmet coffee. “What calamity has befallen us now? And with _us_ I mean you, because all of this,” he indicated the empty dishes, “smacks of a Stiles-disaster.” 

“It’s not so much a disaster as an … unexpected development,” Stiles hedged. He held out his hand for the laptop Derek had already picked up from the sideboard. “Uhm, so, just for the record, we’re all alive and nothing happened. So, yeah, here goes nothing.” 

He opened the laptop and started the clip from last night he’d isolated from the seven-hour-long surveillance video. 

In stony silence, Stiles’ father and Derek watched Stiles’ one-sided conversation with the lizard man. As one, they groaned when Stiles and the lizard bonded - on the screen there was a sort of glow visible that was encompassing both the teen and his nightmarish new friend, but Stiles hadn’t noticed it while it happened. 

“That is a kanima,” Derek stated flatly, eyes going from the laptop to Stiles. “A fucking _kanima_ accepted a place in our pack.” 

“Uh, yeah?” Stiles twisted his fingers nervously. He glanced at his father who very clearly didn’t know how to react to this news. “Are you on the brink of a heart attack, daddio? Do you need a doctor? Derek, what’s his blood pressure?” 

“I’m fine,” John said, oddly calmly. He stared at Stiles. “But it won’t stay that way if I don’t get the whole story _now_. Because I won’t believe for a second that Peter hasn’t seen this video already. His lack of a freak-out leads me to believe that there is something important yet to come.” 

“You’re _good_ , sir,” Derek said admiringly, though he still didn’t uncross his tightly folded arms. To Stiles, he said, “Spill.” 

“Jackson is the kanima,” Stiles blurted out, not even thinking about protesting the order. His dad looked gobsmacked at the revelation. Derek, not so much. “In retrospect, it’s sort of obvious, really, what with his botched turning and all. But yeah, that was my face too when Peter told me.” 

“I’ll be honest, most of the time I don’t know what to do with all this,” the sheriff admitted when he’d gotten his bearing. “Fucking hell. As if Jackson needed more weapons to bully people.” 

“Actually, right now Jackson is the furthest thing from a bully, sir,” Derek said. He took a deep breath and unfolded his arms. “He has the claws and fangs, yes, but a kanima does not have any sort of autonomy. Their nature is such that they look for a master to bond with. Usually, it’s a person with a strong desire to cause mayhem. The stronger the will to unleash violence, say on a revenge spree, the more a kanima will be attracted.” 

“But this one - Jackson - chose Stiles as his master.” Stiles’ father shook his head. “Not that my kid isn’t stubborn, but as far as I know there’s no revenge spree scheduled.” 

“Nope, I’m feeling relatively level-headed, excepting four dumbass alpha dudes, should they not leave town with their tails between their legs,” Stiles promptly agreed. 

“I don’t know the reason,” Derek admitted. “I’ve only heard what I’ve told you. This is strange, but maybe Peter will be able to find out what happened.” 

“No one is to tell Jackson or his parents anything for now,” Stiles said. “The pack is meeting tonight to inform Mr Whittemore and discuss this, and only then will we figure out how to break it to Jackson. That shit will be hard on him no matter what, but we don’t have to be assholes about it.” 

“Agreed,” John murmured. He stood. “Well, I’m off. We got a new load of gang members to interrogate. Beacon Hills has turned into an unofficial interrogation centre for the tough cases. No one knows yet, but those guys are seriously contemplating building a holding facility two counties over because we’re getting shit done here.” 

Stiles’ mouth dropped open. “What?” 

“That’d mean a regular FBI presence,” Derek forced out, voice rough with shock. “You need to prevent that from happening, sir. Our anonymity depends on it.” 

“I would if I could, but my kid’s voodoo works a little too well. The guys are already joking that it must be something in the water. The assistant director we’re dealing with is nearly giddy with all the progress they’re making on the Lobos Locos.” The sheriff shrugged. “It’d be different if Stiles could kit out the facilities they already have, but I don’t see how we could make _that_ happen.” 

“Another thing for the to-do list,” Stiles croaked. “And something that should probably be our new priority. Fuck. This is a nightmare.” 

“Quite,” his father sighed. “But Stiles … that doesn’t mean that what you did was bad. Not by a long shot. We’re doing great work with your help. Already a lot of lives have been saved because of the information we were able to obtain.” 

The sheriff left then, but not without kissing Stiles’ forehead first. 

“He was too calm,” Stiles said once they had heard the cruiser drive off. 

“He was,” Derek agreed. “Because he was relieved for the Whittemores. Jackson won’t die from the bite, that alone is a reason to celebrate. Plus, he will be able to have an eye on Beacon Hills’ newest supernatural addition through you. That makes everything easier to deal with.” 

“He really wasn’t having a silent coronary or something?” Stiles asked in a small voice. “Because I can’t shake the feeling that he’ll keel over before he reaches the station.” 

“His heart was fine,” Derek murmured. He placed a hand on Stiles’ forearm and squeezed gently. “He smelled stressed, but that was to be expected after seeing you play with a kanima like it was a homeless puppy.” 

“Okay then.” Stiles surveyed the breakfast table and rubbed his mouth in a move eerily like his father. “I guess we’d better clean up and head out, then. You, Isaac, and Erica have to help me find a way to take the pressure off Beacon Hills.” 

“Of course we will,” Derek replied easily. “Call the troops and get ready, I’ll deal with the kitchen.” 

oOo

Stiles decided that he’d found the best friends on _earth_. Once she’d understood just how seriously freaked out Stiles was, Erica had cancelled her plans with her parents to join him in the workshop. Likewise, Isaac had abandoned his first real solo project to help, and Derek was the solid presence that kept the teenagers from flying into a manic frenzy. 

“Boyd will come later, he has to drive his grandma to the doctor,” Erica called as she flew into the workshop. “How can I help?” 

“Long story short, apparently the FBI is over the moon with the results they get in our neck of the woods with regards to the locust wolves and are thinking about building a facility dedicated to difficult interrogations here,” Stiles rushed out, gesticulating wildly. “Which, uncool. We do not need more governmental observation _or_ super criminals here. The potential for disaster is too great. Like, supernova great.” 

“So what can we do about it?” Isaac asked, eager to help but visibly at a loss at where to start. 

“We need to kit out _everyone’s_ interrogation rooms,” Stiles answered like it was obvious. “The alphabet soup first, because they’re the ones dealing with the absolute dregs of humanity, but eventually I want all the stations and departments to have the runes.” 

“That’s a super tall order,” Erica said, stunned. 

“I know!” Stiles stopped his pacing and pointed at them. “That’s why you’re here. You need to help me figure out how we can do that, in as short a time as possible.” 

The four of them were silent for a long moment. 

Isaac broke it, quietly and almost reverently remarking, “If we can pull _that_ one off, we can do anything.” 

“I’ll make coffee,” Derek said and vanished to the kitchen area. 

“Isaac and I will make a list of what we know about Stiles’ ward making abilities,” Erica declared. Pointing at Stiles, she said, “And _you_ will think long and hard about how you might be able to pull off what we already know from afar.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” Stiles replied gratefully. He accepted the writing pad and pencil Isaac was shoving his way and plonked down on the wooden bench. “By the way, I’m willing to triple wages for your working hours if we find a solution this week. That gives us four days.” 

“Wohoo!” Erica cried, only to deflate again. “Although, for that incentive, we need to invite the others as well or they won’t ever forgive us.” 

Stiles was pretty sure that Jackson could take it or leave it, but Erica was probably right about Lydia. He exhaled slowly to give himself a chance to calm the heck down. “Call them, then. For Boyd’s sake, I hope that no one comes up with something brilliant in the next five minutes.” 

“That’s nearly a hundred bucks per hour,” Erica said, stunned anew at his readiness to throw so much money at them. “Stiles.” 

“No, really, please don’t try to talk me out of it. That’s _nothing_ compared to what it’ll mean for my dad and the pack, and all of Beacon Hills,” Stiles countered. He anxiously played with his pencil, making it spin around his fingers madly. 

“If we can find a way to paint runes without getting people involved, it’d save us a lot of time securing our territory as well,” Derek chimed in. “Even if it’s only good for preliminary wards, that’s more than we have now. It _matters_ , Erica. Money truly is not the issue here.” 

Erica slumped a little. “Alright. It’s just … I don’t want to take advantage of something that by all rights is a lively debate about comic book magic, you know?” 

“You don’t,” Stiles told her firmly. “Because that’s _exactly_ why I hired you, Catwoman. So bring it on. Amaze me.” 

oOo

That night, Stiles and his team of researchers were bone-tired when they, except for Lydia who thankfully had a date with Jackson, met in Peter’s apartment for their discussion. 

Mr Whittemore was already there when the teens trooped in. He’d brought a literal dozen boxes of maxi-sized pizza, each a different kind, and looked ready to go for their throats in his search for answers. 

Peter joined them at the dining table, placing a huge bowl of salad next to the pizza boxes. “Please sit and tuck in. You all look done for.” 

“We are,” Stiles groaned and shamelessly leaned against Peter’s sturdy frame for some scenting and a hug. “Hey pops, glad you could make it.” 

“Come here, kiddo, David brought pizza Hawaii with extra cheese and cheesy crust.” 

“Oooh.” Lured by the promise of pineapple goodness, Stiles left Peter and slumped down in the indicated chair by his father. “Derek is my bro-heathen so he gets half, but I’m willing to trade you for a slice of your Fiorentina.” 

Like a shadow, Derek chose that moment to sit on Stiles’ free side and the rest of the group followed only a few minutes later. 

“Thank you all for coming,” Peter addressed them as the salad and drinks were passed around. “I’ve already told David that we have important news regarding his son, hence his impatience. Those of you who don’t already know - and I can’t believe you actually didn’t tell them, Stiles - what you’ll learn tonight will remain between us until the time is right to reveal it to Jackson. It’s not up for debate but you’ll understand, I promise.” 

“I don’t want to be rude, but can we talk about it while you eat?” Mr Whittemore asked tightly. 

“If you’re sure?” Peter replied. “What does the pack think? All in favour, raise your hand.” 

Stiles, who was hungry enough not to care about the impending drama, raised his hand alongside everyone else. 

“Very well,” Peter said with a nod. “Get your food and then I’ll explain.” 

Since there was so much pizza to choose from, everyone quickly served themselves and settled in to listen. 

“Last night, Stiles got a visit from a supernatural being, a large humanoid lizard, to be precise,” Peter began. Everyone but Mr Whittemore knew this already so he could continue without pause. “It was the second such visit, and clever boy that he is, Stiles filmed the encounter. I’ll show you later, once the explanations are out of the way. To make a long story short, Stiles befriended the creature and managed to bind it to his pack.” 

Mr Whittemore stared in undisguised shock at Stiles. “You befriended a giant _lizard_? And now he’s in _your_ pack?” 

“Yeah. It’s been a crazy year so far,” Stiles got out between chews. He noticed the wide-eyed stares of his friends and shrugged. “What? You know it’s true.” 

“That’s not even the most amazing thing yet,” Peter continued, cutting in before Erica could open her mouth and shoot a dozen questions he saw boiling inside of her. “This lizard creature is called a kanima and I’m not exaggerating when I say that kanimas are some of the most dangerous supernatural beings out there. They are very strong and fast, absolutely ruthless in the fulfilment of their goals, and produce a paralyzing poison with special glands all over their body that makes it virtually impossible to attack one with bare hands without keeling over the next minute. They’re _terrifying_. Worse, a kanima always comes forth when an unsuitable human gets the werewolf bite.” 

“I don’t like where this is going,” Mr Whittemore muttered, clenching his teeth and balling his hands to fists. 

Around the table, Erica and Boyd and even Isaac were hanging wide-eyed and open-mouthed on Peter’s every word. 

“No, I don’t suppose you do. A kanima comes into existence when the failed bite gets ahold of a human with a lacking sense of self-worth and identity,” Peter said calmly. “If there’s not enough human spirit there to anchor the wolf spirit, it will transform into the kanima persona.” 

“I’m assuming that the point you’re getting to is that my Jackson is this lizard creature Stiles has befriended.” Mr Whittemore took his wine glass and emptied it in one swallow. 

Peter simply inclined his head. 

“There’s more, isn’t it? Tell me, don’t drag it out,” Whittemore demanded. 

“Unfortunately there _is_ more, yes.” Peter refilled the man’s glass and resumed talking. “The kanima spirit is lost, it has no drive, no direction. For lack of a better word, it’s _empty_. And since it can’t exist for long without a purpose - its magic won’t allow it - it goes looking for a master so it may do their purpose instead of his own. If you’re familiar with the Harry Potter books, the closest thing to a kanima would be an especially devoted killer house elf. It is capable of taking orders and would never talk back. Not ever. It simply serves for as long as the master can impose their will on the kanima.” 

Whittemore blanched. “That’s insane.” 

“It’s just as perfidious as it sounds,” Peter said starkly. “Throughout history, the term _master_ denoted a person in charge, but also of unusually strong and charismatic character. That’s still the case today in certain areas. And we all know that psychopaths and sociopaths count among those unusually charismatic and strong-willed people. Had things gone supremely bad, Jackson could have been attracted to a criminal with far-reaching plans for domination, or a psychopath spoiling for an epic murder spree.” 

Stiles exchanged a meaningful glance with Isaac, thinking not of one but two crazy Argents, who would’ve made their life a living hell had they gotten their dirty mitts on the kanima. 

“I can’t believe it,” Boyd said into the shocked silence. “Not the thing about Stiles inviting the kanima into the pack-” 

“Although that’s seriously insane!” Erica interjected. 

“-but that Jackson of all people has so little self-confidence that he turned into such a creature,” Boyd finished his sentence. “That’s really hard to process.” 

“He’s compensating for a lot,” Mr Whittemore said quietly and a little broken. His eyes got wet with tears as the fight left him. “He found out that he’s adopted four years ago and he never recovered from that malicious ‘prank’.” 

Erica squirmed unhappily in her chair, her half-eaten slice of salami pizza hanging limply from her fingers. “I must admit that I thought he deserved it when it happened. He was very mean to me before, made me cry almost every day. But now I’m sorry, Mr W. No one deserves this.” 

“You don’t need to apologize for your feelings, Erica,” Whittemore sighed, wiping his eyes. “If Jackson was a brat, you’re entitled to them. I just wish his mother and I had been able to solve that trauma for him before it escalated.” 

“Well, you couldn’t have known that a deranged alpha werewolf would bite him against his will and turn him into a lizard dude. That’s just karmic overkill,” Stiles said, earning himself dual snorts of horrified amusement from his father and Peter. “You’ll probably get the shock of your life when you see the video, all of you, but what I’ve been seeing so far is that Jackson is _trying_. He found me when he could have slithered off to wherever to find a sufficiently evil master. That’s gotta count for something.” 

“It does,” Whittemore choked out. “Good god, it does. Thank you, Stiles.” 

“Just so we’re clear, you’re not abandoning him or anything, right?” Stiles asked then, narrowing his eyes. 

“Stiles,” the sheriff groaned. 

“It’s alright.” Whittemore managed a wet laugh. “It’s exactly the question I would ask if I were in your shoes. I don’t know whether I can keep my wife in the dark about this, but I promise that, even if she finds out and takes it badly, Jackson certainly won’t lose _me_.” 

Stiles’ father raised his glass. “That’s all anyone here can ask. To family and friends, because there’s nothing more important in the world. The rest will sort itself out.” 

A tear fell from Mr Whittemore’s eye. Hoarsely, he said, “Thank you, John.” 

To make the moment less awkward, everyone took up their glasses and cried, “Cheers!”, and after that, the showing and some more telling and the discussion about how and when to tell Jackson was only half as bad as it could have been. 

**End of chapter 64**


	65. Chapter 65

**Chapter 65**

There were quite a few ideas on how to break the news to Jackson but it quickly became clear that most of them were more or less unusable due to Jackson’s temperament and the general volatility of the situation. 

Isaac’s, “Let’s just tell him, he’ll deal,” was surprisingly shot down by an appalled Erica, and Boyd’s suggestion to tell Lydia and let _her_ deal with it seemed like a recipe for disaster to Stiles. John was in favour of letting Jackson’s father explain the situation, but that was immediately rejected by Mr Whittemore, who felt completely unequal to revealing such an important piece of knowledge to his already fragile kid. 

Derek hadn’t offered an opinion at all, refusing to add fuel to the fire, and Peter held himself back until the others had talked themselves out. Only when pressed by an impatient Isaac, long after every speck of dessert had been devoured, did he finally make a statement. 

“As Stiles bonded with him and is acting as Jackson’s alpha, the safest course of action would be to let Stiles handle it,” Peter said evenly like it should have been clear from the get-go, eyes on Stiles’ sputtering father and protesting friends. “And yes, I know that it is somewhat unfair to place this burden on Stiles’ shoulders, but think about it for a moment. On a subconscious level Jackson trusts Stiles, or else he wouldn’t have sought him out in his other form.” 

“But … but what if Jackson lashes out? Now that we know what he is, he _could_ ,” Erica asked, tightly gripping Stiles’ hand. “We can’t let Stiles do it alone.” 

“And no one said he has to,” Peter assured her. He turned to Stiles. “Of course you can say no. I won’t pressure you into it if you feel you cannot do it.” 

“Are you serious?” Stiles asked and rolled his eyes. “I’ve been the bearer of uncomfortable truths for ages for the guy, _of course_ I can do it. The question is still _how_. And Peter … I think Jackson is a prime example of why pack negotiations are necessary. With his skills, we need to make absolutely sure that he’s on board with it. I won’t use him as a mindless attack dog.” 

“If I may,” Whittemore said quietly. “Peter explained the concept of pack negotiations and contracts to me and I whole-heartedly approve. I will represent my son, of course.” 

Peter smirked. “I’m looking forward to a good battle of wills, David.” 

Whittemore’s laugh was a little strained, but he _did_ laugh, and gladly. “God, I can’t believe that this is going to be my life.” 

“It’s not just one shitfest after another,” Stiles said. “We do a lot of really cool stuff, too. If Jackson wants, he can be a part of it. If not, we’ll find a way to make it work, too. We’re pretty flexible.” 

“How can you make it work if he decides he doesn’t want to be in your pack?” Mr Whittemore asked. “If he doesn’t want you, he’d have to accept Peter, isn’t that so?” 

“He’d probably have to accept _someone_ , being a kanima and all,” Stiles admitted. “But I have no idea what to do if Jackson rejects both of us.” 

“We’d have to find him a master or an alpha he can live with,” Peter said like it wouldn’t be a huge inconvenience. “That would mean relocation, something that thankfully isn’t as bad as it would’ve been were Jackson several years younger than he is now.” 

“And yet it is out of the question,” Mr Whittemore said immediately. “No, really, I won’t allow it.” He looked at Stiles, his expression firm. “Whatever you need to convince my kid that everything will work out fine, you’ve got it. I’ll be damned if his turning ruins his life.” 

“Okay,” Stiles said after a long, heavy pause. He looked at his friends. “Operation _Tell Jackson That He’s A Murderous Lizard Without Causing An International Incident_ is a go.” 

oOo

It was hard work, juggling the frantic search for a way to deflect the alphabet soup’s considerable attention away from Beacon Hills, introducing a traumatized douchebag teenager to his scaly alter ego _and_ producing sufficient stock for a modest online business. 

“I didn’t know being part of a pack would be so adventurous,” Erica sighed, raking a hand through her already tangled curls and throwing down her pencil in frustration. “Two days and we still haven’t found a solution to the interrogation room dilemma. I’m beginning to feel useless.” 

Stiles rubbed his stinging eyes. “I know how you feel, Catwoman. At least I’m having some success in developing a strategy for handling Jackson. Unfortunately, I don’t know him as well as I’d like. I’ll probably have to wing it after all.” 

Derek placed a tall glass of lemonade next to Stiles’ writing pad. “You’re pretty good at that.” 

“Thanks, Sourwolf,” Stiles murmured and gratefully ran a hand over Derek’s arm. Derek rubbed his shoulder in return and meandered back to the desk reserved for filling orders. “Can I see the list of my funky magic skills again?” 

Isaac handed it over without looking up from his drawing. “I haven’t added anything new, though.” 

“I know.” Stiles placed it on the table and smoothed the slightly crumpled edges. Then he turned it by ninety degrees. At Boyd’s raised eyebrow, he explained, “Sherlock Holmes says that changing one’s perspective of a problem might bring forth new insights.” 

Sadly, turning the page like this did not offer any new insights, and neither did turning it completely upside down. 

“What about a murder board?” Erica asked. “We can print out pictures of all your stuff and pin notes next to them. Maybe having visuals will help.” 

Stiles leaned back with an annoyed sigh. “Sure, why not. I got nothing. My brain is literally empty. And melting, because it’s fucking hot outside.” 

It was a testament to just how frustrated they all were when even Derek abandoned the packing of his latest package and helped with the printing of pictures and the writing of memo cards. 

Not even fifteen minutes later, the large corkboard was covered in colourful prints and cards and the five of them stepped back to admire it. 

“You get anything?” Erica wanted to know, tilting her head a little. “Besides a certain sense of accomplishment?” 

“Nope,” Boyd said dryly. 

Isaac also answered in the negative, already done with it all and ready to go back to his drawing. 

“What if …” Derek began slowly, stopping when everyone’s head turned to look at him. He huffed. “What if Stiles asked Jackson to do the painting? It’s not viable all over the country, but kanimas are very good at sneaking up to their victims, so why not use that for breaking into at least some buildings in the area? We already know that he’d paint the runes just like Stiles needs them to be painted. He couldn’t do anything else even if he tried.” 

Stiles pondered this. “Not a bad idea, although it’s not perfect. Police departments have a shitload of surveillance and security measures so we’d have to bring someone in to deal with the cameras and electronic locks. That’d catch someone’s attention sooner or later, not to mention take Jackson away from home for hours, if not days, and we can’t rule out dash cams or smartphone cameras from accidental witnesses. If we don’t want the authorities to find out about us, we definitely don’t want to out us to a moron with a youtube channel.” 

Erica sighed. “When did you get so adult-like, Batman? It’s kind of off-putting.” 

“Oh, believe me, I’d love to do all that cloak and dagger stuff,” Stiles replied with feeling. “But Jackson’s not exactly a fluffy bunny. If someone sees him, they’d probably try to hurt him, or worse. They would fail because _hello_ , murder lizard, but do you really want to risk having Jackson defend himself? His dad would never forgive us and I _try_ not to be that kind of asshole.” 

“So far there’s nothing he’d be good for,” Isaac muttered. “He might be able to fight, now, but it seems like we won’t need him to. The alphas are gone.” 

“For now,” said Boyd ominously. 

“I don’t think that they’ll stay gone,” Derek agreed quietly. “You saw how Deucalion reacted to Stiles’ display of power, Isaac. Even if we’d managed to kill Kali by ourselves, her loss would still drive him to seek revenge.” 

“I’m with Isaac, to be honest, although not because Jackson is useless,” Stiles said into the tense silence. “It’s more like Jackson’s dad won’t allow for much, not as long as Jackson’s underage, but that’s _fine_. We need morals and strict guidelines so we’ll always have a touchstone.” 

“Even if Jackson could probably take all of the alphas out in one night?” Boyd asked evenly. 

Stiles appreciated Boyd’s lack of judgement; the teen seemed honestly curious and maybe a little calculating. He took a deep breath in preparation for some ugly home truths. “If Jackson were down for it? Yeah, you bet I’d be all over that. Those douchebags tried to kill us, I’m not gonna forgive that shit. But we can’t expect someone who suffers from amnesia to do our dirty work.” 

“Peter wouldn’t be so moral,” Boyd stated. 

Stiles returned the large boy’s steady gaze with his own. “No, he probably wouldn’t be. Not with this kind of threat around. But Jackson is _mine_ and that makes all the difference.” 

Boyd inclined his head, conceding the point, and they all returned to the table to begin working on some projects to give their minds a chance to cool down. 

oOo

“How are you?” Stiles asked the next morning, accepting a freshly brewed latte macchiato from Jackson. After a couple of weeks of visiting him at home in the morning, it had become routine. “Is the shoulder giving you any more trouble?” 

Jackson sat down at the kitchen table and rolled said shoulder. “It was still a little achy last night, but this morning I was finally pain-free.” He looked up from his coffee and measured Stiles with a look. “Your magic cards are something else. I’m as good as new. I …” He looked towards the office where his mother had gone to work before turning back and lowering his voice. “I cut myself last night. Just a little, with my razor. Then I used a healing card. This morning the cut was completely gone. I think you repaired everything I’ve ever injured. I feel fantastic.” 

Stiles took a sip from his coffee to hide his smug grin. “You’re welcome.” 

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get a big head.” Jackson threw a croissant onto Stiles’ plate. “So what’s new with your gang?” 

“You really want to know?” Stiles asked, snagging the pastry and slathering it with herbed goat cream cheese. It was the good stuff so no way was Stiles going to pass it up. “I thought you’d want to take a huge step back after that shit show.” 

Jackson fiddled with his cup and lowered his eyes again. “Maybe, but Danny wants in. God knows why.” 

Stiles decided that he’d never get a better chance at sounding the guy out. “So you jump if Danny does?” he needled. 

“Dude’s crazy,” Jackson huffed. “And maybe he’s hiding something. There’s been that feeling for a while now.” He ripped up his own croissant and scowled. “But no. It’s not just for him. Lydia seems to be really interested in her lore, or whatever you wanna call it. All she does is read when she’s not with you.” 

“So because Lydia won’t turn her back, you feel duty-bound to learn enough to get by?” Stiles asked. At Jackson’s rather pinched look, Stiles tapped his foot against the other boy’s. “It’s okay if that’s the case. But you can also be more than just someone who accidentally hangs out with weird werepeople.” 

“Can I?” Jackson asked bitterly. “We aren’t friends, Stilinski. The bite changes nothing, except it fucked me up even more than I already was.” 

“Uhm, that’s not true,” Stiles replied, popping a bit of his pastry into his mouth. “I’m pretty sure we’re stuck with each other now. We’re trauma buddies at the very least, and you haven’t been a raging asshole for months now, just a regular one. I and the others are assholes too, most of the time, and believe me, none of them is afraid to kick your ass. Not even Erica.” He paused and reconsidered. “Especially not Erica.” 

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Jackson scoffed, but he still looked subdued. “Can I ask you … when Lyds went through the whole bite rejection thing …” 

Stiles leaned forward. “Yeah?” 

“She was losing time, sometimes, and went out into the preserve once …” 

A chill went down Stiles’ spine, which made Lou wander restlessly over his body. “Yeah, that happened. Why? Did that happen to you as well?” 

Jackson’s blue, frightened eyes sought out Stiles and he bit his lip. “I think so. I mean, it could be nothing but there were a couple of nights when I’d wake up without, uh, anything on, when I went to bed in boxer shorts.” 

“You could have lost them while you were asleep.” Stiles grinned self-deprecatingly. “You’ll never believe the shenanigans I get up to. Once I woke up in the bathtub with my dad’s stolen blankets and half the contents of the laundry basket for a pillow. He still has the pictures to prove it.” 

“Hilarious,” Jackson dead-panned, although he _was_ visibly amused. All too soon, however, his face fell again and he took a breath. “And I checked, of course. My clothes were gone, both nights. I found one pair in a hedge in our garden a couple of days later, but the other is just … gone.” 

“Fuck,” Stiles sighed. “Okay, that’s legit scary, and I really don’t wanna ruin your day or anything, but I gotta tell you that I know what’s going on and I need to tell you ASAP, but I don’t know how to do it without giving you fits.” 

“What?” Jackson’s mouth dropped open. 

“Yeah, I know, so not how I wanted to ease you into it,” Stiles lamented with a flail. “I told Peter I wasn’t cut out for slow and easy.” 

“You could just tell me,” Jackson said, sitting very still. 

“I really can not,” Stiles shot back. “What I’m gonna tell you is pretty sucky, so I’m not making it any suckier than it has to be by just blurting it out.” 

“You do know that you’re stressing me out, yeah?” Jackson asked sharply, but his tone was also dry and his shoulders didn’t tense as much as they could have. “Whatever it is, just tell me.” 

“Nope,” Stiles retorted stubbornly. “I’ve already decided to make it a game for you. Nothing mean, I promise, but it’ll keep you busy.” He grinned. “And until you’re ready for the full monty, you’re welcome to spend time with us. You already know where my workshop is. Most mornings we’re there for a few hours, making stuff for my shop, but there’s also still the prize money for a solution to my FBI problem. Maybe you’ll be the one to come up with something.” 

“I’ve got lacrosse,” Jackson said automatically. “And fuck you. If it’s about me, just tell me! I can deal.” 

“I’m pretty sure you can’t, which is the whole reason I’m trying to treat you with kid gloves. But of course, you have every right to know,” Stiles returned. “And you will. You _will_ , Jackson, you have my word. But from one trauma buddy to another, believe me when I say that you might not want to get slapped in the face with this.” 

“If you won’t tell me, I’ll just ask one of the others,” Jackson threatened. He got up swiftly and made to leave the house. 

“Sit back down,” Stiles ordered, barely raising his voice, but in his exasperation, a certain _something_ rang in it. 

To both his and Jackson’s surprise, Jackson stopped dead in his tracks and sat back down with alacrity. 

“What,” Jackson asked, bewildered and freaked out when he had trouble losing his very straight posture or moving his hands from where they were resting palm down on the tabletop. 

Stiles was freaking out too. 

“Stiles!” 

“I know, I know. Sorry, must be my magic mojo,” Stiles said a little hoarsely. He relaxed a little, which seemed to be all Jackson needed to slump in his chair as well. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m aware that you have no real reason to trust me, but I’m gonna ask you to trust me anyway.” 

“How can I?” Jackson demanded, wary and unhappy. “You just … mojo-ed me!” 

His pissed-off exclamation startled a laugh from Stiles. “I did, didn’t I? Oh man, that’d be gold if it weren’t so shitty.” 

“Tell me! I’m not gonna ask again, Stiles!” 

The door to Jackson’s mother’s office opened and the woman appeared in the doorway. “What have I told you about fighting this early in the morning?” she asked, scowling at them both. 

“Sorry, mom,” Jackson said grudgingly. 

“Sorry, ma’am,” Stiles offered. “Just a spirited discussion, honest.” 

She gave them both a gimlet stare. “If I have to come out again, there’ll be consequences, boys. Now eat your breakfast and keep the yelling down. _Thank you_.” 

She vanished and closed the door with a snappy little _click_ that had both teens shuddering in terror. 

“You _will_ tell me,” Jackson stated. “No fucking with my head, no unnecessary waiting.” 

“I promise,” Stiles replied. “Cross my heart. I’d swear on my magic, but I’ve never done that before and there’s too much stuff to do to risk losing it. Maybe next time.” 

Jackson huffed and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “There’d better not be a next time.” 

“I definitely can’t promise _that_.” 

oOo

That night, Stiles willingly and knowingly broke the rule about Peter visiting him when he was alone at home and invited the werewolf over. 

“Teenage rebellion was much more deserving of the name in my time,” Peter said as he shimmied in through the window. “What’s wrong?” 

Stiles stared at him, yet again astounded that Peter would come over, no questions asked. 

Well, he usually asked questions _after_ he’d made an appearance, but the point stood. When Stiles hollered, he came. 

“Cat got your tongue?” Peter smirked. “Because it sure wasn’t the big bad wolf.” 

“Shut it,” Stiles grumbled, relaxing a little at the familiar banter. “I just … I don’t know. Dealing with Jackson is hard. Finding a solution to the interrogation issue is also hard.” 

“Is this a cuddle call? And you called me, not Derek?” Peter asked, his initial slight alarm replaced with delight. 

Stiles sighed. “I guess so? I’m just … wrung out. I feel useless. Derek already got hit with all my angst, the poor dude doesn’t need any more of that. I told him to do something fun with Isaac for a change.” 

“Hmm, I’m not mad about it.” Peter yet again showed off his excellent managing skills by stepping up to where Stiles was fidgeting unhappily and reeling him in for a long, tight embrace. It wasn’t as intense as their last one, but it was warm and reassuring and _god_ the man smelled divine. 

What felt like a quarter-hour later but probably only was a minute or two, Peter steered the teen to the bed and shoved him on it. 

“Make yourself comfortable and pick a movie. I’ll be back with snacks and drinks,” he ordered. “Existentialist crises demand nothing less than booze and comfort food.” 

“And cuddles,” Stiles added hopefully. 

Peter’s intrigued smile got a little sharper. “Definitely cuddles.” 

Despite his teasing, he was back soon with a tablet full of sandwiches and the carafe of lemony iced tea Stiles had made the night before. To Stiles’ utter surprise, he also brought two beers, although they were grapefruit mixes, not the real deal. 

“I hope Iron Man’s okay,” Stiles said, moving only the barest bit to make room for the werewolf. 

“It’s fine, I haven’t gotten around to watching it yet.” Peter set the tablet on Stiles’ lap and settled down afterwards. “I’m quite looking forward to it, actually.” 

Stiles smirked at him. “It’s the goatee, isn’t it? You and RDJ both wear it so well.” 

Not the least bit ashamed, Peter replied, “What’s a hero without a little bit of villain to them? Tony Stark could take over the world by various means and he knows it, but he chooses not to.” He shrugged. “Comparisons could be drawn.” 

“You know,” Stiles said as he pressed the play button on his remote control, “I’ve always wondered what people want with excess amounts of money. Like, they get big houses and go on great vacations, but the rest of their wealth is just, I dunno, collecting dust.” 

“And interest,” Peter chuckled when Stiles elbowed him. “I know what you mean. We’re far from comic book levels of personal wealth, though, so don’t worry about economic inequality too much. At the clip we’re going, we’ll be able to offer the supernatural community some pro bono aid soon enough.” 

“You say that like it’s a done deal,” Stiles said, surprised. “I get the trading and the offering of little things like healing cards for cheap, but for free?” 

“The Hale pack was a big believer in giving back to the community.” Peter took a sandwich from the platter and took a bite. “I told you before that goodwill is its own kind of currency in our world. Giving away small favours might well mean the difference between a bad scare and devastation one day. We can afford it, we’re just lacking in the time department right now.” 

Stiles could get behind that. In fact, it was scary how much sense this made, and also how much he wanted to see whether they could pull it off. 

On-screen, Tony Stark’s caravan was blown up and the poor guy woke up in a dim cave with a make-shift reactor in his chest. 

As the billionaire was struggling to make sense of his new circumstances, Peter finished off his sandwich, snagged a bottle of beer for himself, and as easy as you please held out his arm for Stiles to snuggle into. 

“Now that you’ve calmed down a little, tell me why you’re feeling useless because last I checked we did rather well on the defence of the territory front,” he murmured. 

“I guess I was being spoiled until now,” Stiles sighed, sinking into Peter’s warm side. “I mean, not that any of the bad stuff was easy or anything, it’s just … until now doing magic things was sort of fun.” 

“And it isn’t anymore?” Peter questioned lightly. 

“Yes, but also no. Because we’re all stumped right now. We don’t know how to get my runes into every legit interrogation room on the continent without giving us away, and I also only have a rudimentary plan for dealing with Jackson without short-circuiting his brain for good.” Huffing, Stiles took a swig from his bottle. “I swear, dealing with murderous alphas is almost easy, compared to that.” 

“I see how you might come to that conclusion,” Peter rumbled. He leaned over and rubbed his cheek against Stiles’ temple, mussing up his hair a little in the process. “What is your starting point with Jackson?” 

Stiles grimaced. “I told him that I’d make it a game for him, so he can sort of grow into learning what he is. Don’t laugh, but I’m also hoping to sort of train him to achieve consciousness while he’s turned.” 

Peter was silent for a long moment. “You what?” 

“Well, the kanima is essentially another personality, right?” Stiles asked. “Like Dr Banner and the Hulk?” 

“I can honestly say that I’ve never thought about it long enough to come to that conclusion,” Peter admitted. He turned a little so he could look at Stiles without having to turn his head so far. “Do you feel that it could work?” 

“That’s what I’m hung up on.” Stiles raked his free hand through his already dishevelled hair. “I thought about leaving clues and having him do little errands that carry over from one existence to the other. See if he catches on and realizes that something’s going on. Plus, integrating him in the pack without all of that, because dude’s of the opinion that he has to follow Lydia and Danny into it, even if he doesn’t really want to. He’s super aware that we’re not friends, but he also doesn’t see how that can change.” 

“It’s rather a tall order with your history,” Peter remarked, thoughtful. 

Nodding, Stiles fiddled with his bottle. “There’s more. I, uh, I got the idea when I sort of ordered Jackson to sit back down when he wanted to storm off.” 

“I take it he followed that order?” Peter asked. 

“Like the world’s best-trained dog, I swear.” Stiles exhaled. “It was horrifying. But there you have it. One very obedient and very aware human douchebag makes me hope that I can pull it off.” 

Peter nuzzled Stiles’ temple, his soft breath cooling Stiles’ warm skin. “In that case, I say do it. I’ll help you come up with games to play with the kanima as needed and do my best to make him feel welcome in the meantime. Giving him a place with us can only help him find an identity that satisfies him.” 

“Thank you.” Stiles leaned into the soft caress, the tension leaving his whole body. “How ironic is it that I asked never to turn Jackson, and now we’re saddled with him anyway?” 

“Very,” Peter chuckled. “But I’m glad that you’re resigned to it and willing to help out. That he’s so dangerous is even in our favour; right now it might be prudent to give him an order to protect his parents against the alpha pack and anyone they might send. Even if Jackson were aware, I’m sure that he would have no issue with that task.” 

“Yeah, of course. Good idea. Uhm, Mr Whittemore mentioned telling his wife … can I leave that to you?” 

Peter smirked. “Yes, you can leave that to David and me. However, may I ask for your PowerPoint presentation? Zia might also demand a demonstration of your powers, but that shouldn’t be a problem, as often as you’re at their house.” 

Stiles rolled his eyes. “With my rotten luck, she’ll have me perform tricks for my coffee. Like a circus monkey or something.” 

“What, like juggling spoons with your mountain ash?” Peter asked, amused. “She’s more the type to make you do her filing, and do it well.” 

Stiles jolted. “That’s it!” he cried. He scrambled up to his knees and grabbed Peter’s head with both hands. “You, Creeper Wolf, have just found my solution!” In a fit of giddiness, he bent over and smacked a loud kiss onto Peter’s forehead. “I need to call Isaac.” 

With that, he nearly fell face-first off the bed as he dove for his phone. Only Peter’s firm grip on his ankle prevented him from a nasty tumble, and when he tried to leave the room for his talk the werewolf merely rolled his eyes and dragged him back against his side. 

_Huh_ , Stiles thought, a dull flush heating his cheeks, _seems like he’s not the type to cut a cuddle call short. Who would’ve thought?_

And well, Stiles was nothing if not adaptable … or on board with this. 

**End of chapter 65**


	66. Chapter 66

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was cool to write. And guys, cut Stiles some slack. He's new to all that alpha business ;)

**Chapter 66**

Stiles had no problem whatsoever to do the initial dirty work himself. Armed with several baggies of mountain ash, he went on another visit to the sheriff station. While he brought several pounds of fresh strawberries for everyone because the strawberry fields outside of Beacon Hills were closing soon and offered half price for self-pickers, he kept it low-key otherwise. 

During a bathroom break, Stiles emptied the bags and ran his hands over the small mounds of eagerly shifting mountain ash. 

“Okay, your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to scratch these runes into the corners of every police interrogation room you encounter. Be careful and don’t be seen.” He showed the ash a picture of a room schematic, complete with cardinal points. “Since this is a nation-wide effort, I encourage you to seek support among the local population. Any questions?” 

Hilariously - and frighteningly - there were a few. It was more like a niggling across Stiles’ magical awareness, but he understood well enough what the ash needed to know. 

“No, do not engage any magic users. This is strictly between you and me. But as I said, if you meet friendlies among your own kind, don’t hesitate to draft them.” He cocked his head. “Oh, so now we’re talking prizes, eh? I haven’t got a single problem with that, just so you know. What do you want? A ride with yours truly? Or a ride with one of my furry friends? They’d probably love that.” 

The ash was pretty eager for rides with Stiles _and_ the werewolves, but the overwhelming vote was for trees. 

As in, Stiles was asked to plant new trees, and not just rowan trees either. Just … trees. 

“I can get behind that,” he told the ash with a grin when he’d recovered from his surprise. “I might have to barter with my Sourwolf because he’s the current owner and ranger for the Hale land, but it shouldn’t be a problem. Once we’ve got his okay you can help pick out a spot. Do we have a deal?” 

The mountain ash surged up and crawled all over him, covering every inch of his skin. The merge with the mountain ash Lou was using to get around independently of Stiles was lively, and for a moment Stiles really felt like Eddie Brock inside his Venom alien suit. 

“This is _so_ cool,” he breathed into the ash covering his face, stretching out his fingers and watching as sharp talons formed in the tips and razor-sharp ridges welled up along the back of his hand. “Once you’ve made it back to me, we’ll have to talk about making some sort of wolf suit. It would be amazing to be able to run with my pack.” 

Once more the mountain ash twisted around him, easily taking whatever shape Stiles and Lou wanted it to take. Then, it slowly seeped back onto the tiled floor, and from there tiny tendrils of black began making their way out of the stall and in the direction of the interrogation rooms. The vast remainder, however, crept towards the high-set and small hopper window to begin the journey. 

Stiles fiercely wished the mountain ash safe travels. As soon as it was gone, he did his business, washed his hands, and rejoined his dad in his office. 

“All done?” the sheriff asked mildly. 

Stiles grinned. “Yup. I’ll have to plant half a dozen trees, but that’s all. Combined with the discouragement runes on some paperwork that should do the trick in getting the FBI off our backs.” 

“Your _self-copying_ discouragement runes,” his father corrected in a tone that clearly said that he couldn’t believe the words that were coming out of his mouth. “Do I even want to know?” 

“Maybe you do,” Stiles answered with a smirk. 

“Yeah,” John conceded, “maybe I do.” 

“You can totally blame Peter for that.” Stiles proceeded to tell his father about the talk that prompted Peter’s mention of juggling things with mountain ash, as well as Zia Whittemore’s meticulously filed paperwork. He wisely left out that that talk had been in person and not via phone. “I mean, how great is it that a simple quip led to this? My mind was, like ...” And Stiles mimed his head exploding. 

The sheriff smiled wryly. “You two are the devil’s pair, kiddo. I live in fear of the day when you decide that you can easily rule the world.” 

“Nah, we’re the good guys, we’d only go that far if everyone else has royally fucked up,” Stiles replied cheerfully. “And with that reassuring remark, I’m gonna take my leave. I’ve got to ask Derek for permission to plant trees, and then I’m gonna go to self-defence with Isaac. Oh, by the way, how about a barbeque on Sunday? I thought we could invite Jackson and his parents. The old ladies will probably love harassing him.” 

“Send me a grocery list and I’ll go shopping tomorrow,” the sheriff said. He shook his head. “This summer is one for the books.” 

“Isn’t it just?” Beaming, Stiles gave his father a hug and a smacking kiss to the head. “Bye!” 

oOo 

After hearing what had happened at the station, Derek was only too glad to show Stiles a space on the Hale property where the preserve could do with some more trees. 

“A storm last year felled a couple of old trees. It’s got quite a bit of light and the soil is rich,” Derek explained, showing off the large patch of young overgrowth that had sprouted up around the dead tree stubs. “Depending on what you want to plant, the saplings shouldn’t have any problems shooting up. Do you have seeds ready?” 

“Nah, I thought I’d let the ash decide what it wants,” Stiles said. “Since they claimed the tree planting as their reward for invading law enforcement offices all over the country and all.” 

If Derek found it strange that Stiles was talking about the mountain ash like it was a sentient being, he didn’t show it. Instead, he walked around the clearing and made notes on his phone of what needed to be cleared away and what he should get to support the growth and development of the new trees. 

Afterwards, they spent some time around the dilapidated house where Derek had begun rebuilding his mother’s herb garden. Stiles was amazed that Derek already had the first tiny offshoots to show for his hard work. 

“It’s a good thing I finally finished the ward stones for this property,” Stiles said. “Let’s bury them today and get the wards going.” 

Derek was quietly eager and gladly did all the shovelling. With every colourful stone vanishing in the ground of his family’s property, a bit of tension left his muscular frame until at last, he seemed almost mellow in the slightly damp heat of the day. 

“And now?” he asked quietly. 

Stiles patted the remaining stone in his hand. “Now we plant the master stone in the centre and cast the magic. Come, since it’s your property you get to hold my hand.” 

“It’s not just mine,” Derek murmured but he followed along willingly. 

“Uh, yes, it is. Figures that Peter didn’t tell you.” 

“What do you mean?” Derek asked. 

Stiles stopped in the very centre of the warded-off area, which was close to Talia Hale’s secret wolfsbane patches. “This is perfect.” He held out a hand, the fingers splayed. “The radiating energy from all the stones around us is thickest here. Okay, swing that spade.” 

With half a dozen decisive delves of the spade, the hole was ready. 

“Here.” Stiles handed Derek the dark blue stone that the pack had adorned with gold speckles and purple stars. “Place it in the ground and cover it with dirt. Think about how this is your property, and that only you get to decide who is allowed to step foot on it.” 

“I can’t,” Derek retorted, shoulders hunched up a little. 

“I just told you that you can,” Stiles said patiently. “I dunno if Peter intended for it to be a surprise or something, but he already signed the property over to you. It’s yours to do with as you please. All that’s needed is your counter signature, but that’s just a formality.” 

Derek’s eyes widened and he stared at Stiles in utter incredulity. “ _Really_. Why would he do that?” 

“Dude, why wouldn’t he? Being here makes you happy, and he wants you to be happy.” Stiles placed a hand on Derek’s arm and just held him. “Bury your ward stone and seal the deal. I promise that this is not a hoax or a dream. Come on.” 

It was heartbreaking how Derek’s gaze flitted to Stiles every few seconds like he really couldn’t believe his good fortune. Almost reverently, he put the dirt back into the hole and patted it until it was level with the surroundings. 

Across from him, Stiles sat down and crossed his legs. “Give me your paws, this is the fun part.” 

Still overwhelmed, Derek also sat down and placed his hands into Stiles’. “I really just have to think about the security?” 

“Yeah, whatever you think is necessary.” Stiles grinned. “No words required.” 

Derek took a deep breath and settled down. For a moment he looked at the ward stone’s hiding place but then he closed his eyes. 

Stiles followed suit and began his mantra of, _Protect Derek’s land, protect Derek’s land, protect Derek’s land …_

They were both silent for long minutes, Lou crawling over their arms to connect them further, but at last Derek exhaled again and murmured, “I think I’m done.” More vulnerable than Stiles had seen him in quite some time, he added, “Thank you, Alpha.” 

“You’re welcome,” Stiles returned, pleased as punch. He grinned. “If it weren’t so reckless, I’d love to see Deaton’s stupid face when he realizes that he can’t trespass anymore.” 

Derek returned his wide smile with a tiny one of his own. “Imagining it is good enough for me.” 

For just a second longer Stiles’ squeezed Derek’s earthy hands. Then, he stood and brushed off the dirt from his pants. “There’s one other thing I wanted to talk to you about. Is that okay? Or do you want to, you know, wallow some more in your contentment?” 

“I can wallow any time I want, now,” Derek retorted, a bit of his sass returning. He stood as well. “What is bothering you?” 

“It’s not really bothering me, I’ve just been thinking.” 

They returned to the house side by side and went around to the front entrance. 

“Okay,” Stiles said with a gusty sigh. “The thing is that I don’t really know what you’re thinking about all of this.” He gestured at the ruined house. “But I do know that it is important to you. You probably won’t want to level it, even though most people might think you should.” 

“I …” Derek’s mildly happy expression cooled and wariness tensed his formally loose shoulders. “I’m not ready.” 

“And I totally get that,” Stiles assured him. “What I want to know, as your friend, is whether being around here will hurt you more in the long run, or make you better.” 

“Are you truly asking as my friend, or as my alpha?” Derek asked stiffly. 

Stiles shrugged. “Fair question. Both, I suppose, because I can’t really help myself. Just to be clear, I have no intention of taking any choices away from you. This is _your_ property. I just want to know what your plans are so I can be there for you.” 

Derek’s light eyes flicked back to the house and he swallowed. “I don’t know. Almost all of my family died here. Laura’s buried here.” He took a shuddery breath. “It’s like they’re still here, somehow. That’s not … that’s not _normal_ , I know, but I can’t let it go. Not yet.” 

“Okay,” Stiles said easily. He was no stranger to wishing so hard for his mom that he sometimes could hear her voice even now, after so many years. That Derek wanted to be close to his lost family in the only way he could wasn’t unusual to him at all. “Although … you got any plans on improving the structure?” 

“What?” Derek asked, confused. 

Stiles pointed at the sooty walls and the broken staircase that was visible through the open door. “If it stays, you might as well use it, at least for storage and stuff. Or would that be verboten?” 

Flabbergasted, Derek stared at him again. “Uh, I don’t know. I honestly haven’t thought about it.” 

“Well, maybe you will, now that it’s all yours.” Stiles gently bumped against Derek’s shoulder and then took a few steps back. “I’m gonna head back for my martial arts class. You have a good time, and if you wanna join us at the drive-in cinema tonight just call so we can reserve you a spot.” 

A little roughly, Derek whispered, “Okay.” 

Stiles smiled at the overwhelmed werewolf and turned to begin the two-mile trek back to his Jeep. 

oOo

That night, Stiles invited Peter over again and did his best to fudge the security system so his father wouldn’t have a reason to read him the riot act. How he hadn’t noticed lizard Jackson until after the fact was a question for another day, but that just proved that both mundane and magical protections were needed now to be able to sleep with both eyes closed. 

Just before midnight, Peter entered through the window and stood in the far corner of the room, as directed by Stiles. 

Not ten minutes later, the kanima slithered in as well. His yellow eyes took in Peter’s still, red-eyed form before he turned his attention to Stiles. 

“Hey you,” Stiles greeted him. “Sorry for calling you like this, and thanks for coming. I didn’t know if it would work, but you obviously heard me, because magic. Cool. So, there are a few things I … we … need to go over with you. Is that okay? Do you have some time?” 

It couldn’t speak, but the kanima was more than capable of conveying his readiness to attend Stiles’ wishes. In a sleek move, he perched on the desk chair and chirped a little when it turned slightly with the momentum. 

Stiles smiled anxiously. “Great. So, let me introduce you to Peter, the other alpha in Beacon Hills. We’re friends and partners. He’s got one beta, his name is Isaac, and he’s also sort of co-adopted my friends Erica and Boyd. I have one beta beside you named Derek. Those guys know of you and are looking forward to meeting you soon.” 

“Hello,” Peter said, a rumble following the silken greeting. “Nice to meet you.” 

The kanima cocked his head and rumbled back. 

“That went well,” Stiles breathed, relieved. “Okay, on to the unpleasant business we urgently need to talk about. You know how an alpha douchebag bit your human to hurt our pack? Well, we think that they might come back, despite me and Lou decapitating one of their members.” 

The kanima hissed, almost like he was issuing a challenge. 

“I know that you could probably rip them to shreds, my dude, but that’s not what we’re going with right now,” Stiles cautioned. “For now we’d like for you to check out your human’s house and get acquainted with his and his parents’ habits. Your job will be to protect them against intruders and attackers. If the alphas are dumb enough to try something, take them out. I won’t be super fussed should you kill one or even all of them, but we’ve got my dad to consider. I’d like to spare him the shitload of paperwork that would cause. Plus, your human might get in trouble … or be squeamish.” He paused. “Actually, I have no idea if he is, but I’ll find out.” 

Huffing, the kanima curled his long tail around himself. 

“It’s boring, I get that, but that brings us to the second point on our agenda,” Stiles said consolingly. “First, I’d like to know how aware you are of your human. He doesn’t know anything about you, just that a few strange things have been happening to him.” 

The kanima hissed and chittered for a bit. 

“I don’t know what you got from that, but I believe that he is very aware of his human half,” Peter said from his corner. 

“Yeah, I think so, too.” Stiles considered this. “If that proves to be true, we’ve got a huge advantage. Instead of blending two completely unaware personalities, we only have to reconcile Jackson with this new aspect of himself.” 

“That could still be more than we can handle,” Peter replied. Slowly, he came forward and sat down on the bed. While his eyes never lost their red colour, he looked non-threatening otherwise. “How willing would you be to merge with your human, Kanima?” 

Stiles grumbled in dissatisfaction. “We’re not gonna call him _Kanima_ , for fuck’s sake.” 

“His human name is out for the moment,” Peter countered. “Or any diminutives.” 

“Then we’ll find him one that doesn’t give away his identity.” Stiles shook off his sudden anger. It wasn’t _Peter’s_ fault that Jackson had been turned and he didn’t want to make the mistake of using Peter as a convenient scapegoat. “But it’s a good question. I promised Jackson to tell him what’s going on, and to hold him off at least in the short-term from throwing himself into yet another sword of mental disbalance I told him that I’d make a game out of it for him.” 

“That was pretty presumptuous, if not condescending. I’m surprised he accepted this,” Peter murmured. 

“Well, he wasn’t happy about it, but I guess he noticed how difficult it was for me.” 

“Hm, a point in his favour. I do understand your reasoning, though not everyone will.” 

“Do you?” 

Peter touched Stiles’ shoulder with his outstretched fingers. “Of course, I do. His parents gave that boy whatever he wished for, but they obviously somehow failed in giving him the kind of roots he needs to feel secure in himself. Dumping this on him without him having anything to ground him? That’s a mental break in the making even for less challenged individuals.” 

“Yeah, that’d be so not cool with the powers the kanima has. The problem is that Jackson doesn’t trust _anyone_ ,” Stiles said quietly. “Not even himself. I just thought I’d, I dunno, engage his curiosity long enough for him to become friends with us while giving our Scalyboy here time to leave hints so Jackson won’t feel like an actual Dr Jeckyll when he does find out. That is if he wants Jackson to know. I’m not sure what kanimas actually want out of life, except for pleasing their masters.” 

Both he and Peter looked at the kanima, who had been following their conversation attentively. 

The kanima mrowled a little. Then, in the blink of an eye, he was in front of Stiles and offering his clawed hand again for a high-five. The look in his reptilian eyes was intent, yet the creature managed to somehow radiate hopeful contentment. 

“Well, I think he does ultimately want to join consciousness with his human,” Peter said a little breathlessly as Stiles pressed his palm against the kanima’s. “Now we only have to devise a plan for that to happen sooner rather than later.” 

Stiles smiled at the kanima. “Let the games begin. I’ve always thought that co-op is the way to go.” 

**End of chapter 66**


	67. Chapter 67

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy V Day to those who like to celebrate, and happy Sunday to everyone else. Please stay safe! <3

**Chapter 67**

Stiles probably shouldn’t have been so surprised to find Jackson on his doorstep the very next morning, but he was. Jackson had even brought breakfast, waffles and chicken from the diner, to buy himself some goodwill. 

“Hey, come in,” Stiles said with a yawn. “You’re early.” 

“I couldn’t sleep,” Jackson replied. He found his way to the kitchen. “Where’s your dad?” 

“Sleeping in. He’s on nights this week.” Stiles relieved the other teen of his delicious burden and directed him to the table. “Sit, I’ll make coffee. Peter brought a French press and those deli coffee beans, so I’m pretty sure you’ll survive a prolonged stay in our humble abode.” 

“Sounds good,” Jackson replied, offering a small smirk. He watched Stiles as he slowly got out plates, cutlery, and cups. Without preamble, he said, “I wanted to ask if you can’t give me at least something. I sort of get why you don’t want to overwhelm me, but knowing that something really crappy happened to me without having any of the details doesn’t make it any better.” 

Stiles didn’t even try to pretend to prevaricate. “Sure,” he replied as he flicked on the electric kettle. “It wasn’t my intention to let you stew. Let’s just get breakfast ready and then we’ll talk.” 

Jackson could be very good if he wanted to. He actually helped with setting the table and placed the butter dish and the small carafe of full-fat milk just so. He even offered to cut the fruit Stiles wanted to have with the waffles. 

Finally, they sat down. Stiles took a moment to inhale the heady aroma of the steeping coffee in the French press. It mingled with the savory smell of the chicken and the sweet notes of the still-warm waffles and lit up his sleepy brain as few other things could. 

They divided the food between them and began to eat. 

“First of all, you and your family are invited to a barbeque tomorrow afternoon,” Stiles said, a few bites in. “You’ll come, won’t you?” 

“Everyone will be there, won’t they?” Jackson muttered suspiciously. 

Stiles smirked. “That’s the idea.” 

“I’m not a charity case.” 

“You sort of are, right now,” Stiles countered easily, ignoring Jackson’s scowl, “but it doesn’t follow that it has to stay that way. You were bitten by a werewolf, and as it did for Lydia, it woke something in you. I’m not gonna tell you what, yet, but now that the black goober phase is over, you’ll be turning and who better to support you than people who also turn occasionally.” 

Jackson’s fork froze on its way up to his mouth. “What?” 

“You’re definitely not going to die, hooray,” Stiles answered, obnoxiously cheerful. He speared a piece of honey melon with his knife and popped it into his mouth. “Welcome to the supernatural club. I can’t say that it’s exclusive because we’ve got some serious douchebags in it, but yay to better health and reflexes. You’ll be a terror on the lacrosse field, I’m sure.” 

Jackson was stunned. 

Stiles poked him in the shin with his naked toes. “Hey, are you tracking?” 

“I …” Jackson shook his head. “I suspected, after not dying a wretched death, but …” 

“But it’s still a lot to be confronted with. I get it.” Stiles lifted the French press. “More coffee?” 

Jackson nodded, but it was obvious that he wasn’t really all there. 

“So, that wasn’t a _huge_ reveal, compared to what’s still waiting for you, but it might’ve been enough for one day,” Stiles said. “But I could tell you a little more if you need it.” 

Jackson jolted. “Uh, no. I don’t think so.” His baby blues latched onto Stiles’ in a quiet sort of desperation. “I didn’t want this.” 

“Almost none of us did,” Stiles said sympathetically. “But we’re dealing with it. We even deal _well_ with it, a lot of the time. Plus, we have each other, that helps. So, as I said, you’re welcome to our club.” 

“Will I turn when people can see me?” Jackson asked worriedly. “I don’t want anyone to find out. I don’t want _hunters_ to know me.” 

“I can, with complete certainty, assure you that you won’t,” Stiles answered. “If you get attacked in broad daylight, I’m convinced that you’ll manage to get away without betraying your secret.” 

“How?” Jackson demanded. 

“Let’s table that one for later, okay? Just trust me that you’ve got someone badass on your side now, and he’ll take care of it for now.” Stiles bit his lip. “I also asked him to watch out for your parents, I hope that’s alright. With the alphas probably not gone I didn’t want to take any chances.” 

“Wha … you’ve _talked_ to him?” 

Stiles sighed. “Not as such. But that’s okay, he understands me very well and wants to help. It’s pretty complicated. Give yourself a couple of days to digest this before moving on. Can you do that?” 

“I … yeah. I should.” Jackson pressed his lips together. “I’m so pissed off that I need _you_ to coddle me of all people.” 

“I was the best out of a bunch of bad options,” Stiles said and smiled wryly. “It’s stupid and infuriating to say that you’ll understand after the fact, but the truth is that that’s probably exactly what’ll happen. But hey, I’m super glad that you can acknowledge your unhappiness without letting everyone else know it through your fists. Progress, man!” 

Incredibly, Jackson flushed hotly and dropped his gaze to his clenched hands. “I was such a bastard.” 

“Yep, you sure were,” Stiles agreed, keeping his tone mild. “But it seems like you’ve been doing better for a while now.” 

“Therapy helps some,” Jackson said roughly, fiddling with his cup and still not looking at Stiles. “I suppose I should thank you for telling me to do it.” 

Stiles shrugged. “You can if you want to, but I’d be much happier with your promise that you’ll continue to go. It’ll help you deal with _this_ as well.” 

Jackson slumped a little. “I wish I could talk to my therapist about werewolves and stuff.” 

“You can at least talk with your dad if the pack or Lydia and Danny aren’t enough, that’s pretty awesome already,” Stiles told him. “And I know that your dad and Peter also want to tell your mom so she can be there for you, too. Maybe you should wait for your dad’s okay before you mention anything to her, but yeah. You don’t have to rely on just the pack if you don’t want to.” 

“You don’t have friends outside the circus,” Jackson accused. 

Stiles didn’t resent him for this knee-jerk reaction because it was true. “Nope, I don’t exactly have time for outsiders right now,” he agreed. “But Isaac and I are friendly with some of the kids in our martial arts class. A couple of weeks back we started going to the diner together afterwards for milkshakes and stuff. That’s enough for some time away. We don’t need more at the moment.” 

“Mmh.” 

“Hey, maybe you should do, or pretend to do, martial arts as well. Should something happen and you have to defend yourself, it’d help explain your new skills,” Stiles suggested, perking up. “You’d have the time for it right now.” 

“I really _don’t_ have the time for it. I won’t give up lacrosse,” Jackson said sharply. 

“Chill, that’s not what I meant,” Stiles said, waving Jackson’s objection away. “It’s just for show, dumbass. As long as you can truthfully say that you’ve gone a couple of times you’ll have plausible deniability.” 

Jackson scoffed. “Are you so sure that I’ll need that?” 

“Uh, yeah. You definitely need that.” Stiles slathered a bit of butter onto his waffle piece and pointed it at Jackson. “I told you, your better half is a badass, and if I’ve learned anything about bad guys it’s that they just can’t give it a rest.” 

oOo

Preparing for the barbeque was a team effort. Erica’s parents enthusiastically offered to clean up the Stilinski backyard for the get-together, the neighbouring old ladies only needed a _hint_ of an invitation to promise to bake pies and attend, and Stiles felt no shame whatsoever for alluding to yet another stray that needed some fattening up. 

“You’re evil,” Derek said to Stiles while they were carrying Peter’s super expensive gourmet meat and sausages outside. “Jackson’s not even here and the ladies have already adopted him.” 

“Well, it’s only fair, since you’re gonna be packmates,” Stiles replied and grinned impishly. “But never fear, Sourwolf, you’ll always be my favourite.” 

Derek glanced at Stiles with a strange expression on his face. “Is that so?” 

“Well, you’ve got seniority going for you,” Stiles said, gearing up for a ramble, “and then you’re a giant marshmallow that gives the best hugs on the planet, which reminds me that I want one later, plus you’re good at handiworks - don’t think I didn’t notice that you fixed the warped steps of the porch, dude - and you’re just a really good friend. Like, my _best_ friend. Not much ground to usurp your place there, dude.” 

They reached their destination, the small table next to the already heated-up grill, and put down their delicious cargo. Once that was done, Derek simply grabbed Stiles and hugged him, long and warm and oh so well. 

“See?” Stiles nearly rumbled and happily smushed his face into the bend of Derek’s shoulder. “ _That’s_ a hug.” 

“Better than mine?” Stiles’ father asked beside them, amused. His expression was a little melancholic, however. “Am I losing my dad cred already?” 

“ _Never_ ,” Stiles retorted. “Dad hugs will always be dad hugs, they’re a league of their own.” He rubbed Derek’s shoulders to lessen the painful reminder that his own father wasn’t around anymore to give him one. It was Stiles’ declared goal to have his father and Derek be friendly enough one day that they’d be comfortable sharing this particular pleasure. “The coals look about ready. I can’t _wait_ to try Kobe steak.” 

“ _I_ can’t believe that Peter went that far for the Whittemores,” the sheriff countered. “ _Kobe steaks_ , Jesus. It’s a good thing he’ll be on hand to grill them himself because I certainly won’t set myself up for that disaster.” 

“It’s not just the Kobe meat. Everything is organic and gourmet,” Derek said, not quite flatly but certainly a little mockingly. “Peter hit the farmer’s market himself and forced Isaac to help pick out the best stuff.” 

“Everything’s a lesson,” Stiles said with a shrug. “And with the way Peter cooks, I’d endure picking out ingredients any day. It’d be worth it.” 

“Will Graham probably thought the same thing about Hannibal Lecter,” Derek huffed, surprising both Stilinskis with his dry humour. 

“Peter’s many things, but he’s not a people-eater,” Stiles protested, just quiet enough so Erica’s parents couldn’t hear. Thankfully they were heading into the house and didn’t seem to be paying much attention. “He isn’t, right?” 

“And this is where I’ll be leaving you guessing,” Derek said with a smirk. “I’m getting the pans with the roast vegetables.” 

He left Stiles with his father and it didn’t even take a minute for Erica and Boyd to take his place. 

“Just a heads up, my parental units are off to clean your bathrooms before the food is ready,” Erica told the sheriff. “It’s their way of saying thanks for the invitation. If you’ve got any embarrassing stuff in there, they won’t breathe a word of it, promise.” 

Stiles’ father sighed. “They do know that they’re _guests_ , yes?” 

“It’s their hospitality gift,” Erica sighed with an eye roll. “Their friends have gotten used to it and most do appreciate the help around the house. I hope you won’t talk to them about it, though. They’d probably go home crying because they like you too much to not offer their help.” 

Stiles patted his dad’s shoulder. “Nah, we won’t. Thanks for telling us.” 

“They mean well, but I draw the line at my unmentionables,” John muttered. “If they’ve started a wash, all bets are off.” 

Erica’s shoulders slumped a little in relief. “Thank you. You are awesome. You have no idea just how awkward it sometimes was to explain.” She turned and hurried off after her parents. 

Boyd, however, remained and nodded at the Stilinskis. “I appreciate that you’re not going to upset her folks. They’re too nice for words, almost like small kids.” 

That caught Stiles’ attention. “Uhm, sorry if this sounds rude, but are they somehow … damaged? Do you know? Maybe they inhaled too many bleach fumes or something?” 

Boyd shrugged. “I don’t think so; they’re too good at their job. They also went to college and earned top grades. They’re just super nice. They’d do anything for Erica, literally.” 

“Huh,” Stiles murmured. 

“What are you thinking?” his father asked suspiciously. 

“Nothing.” Stiles shook his head. “I’ll be back in a second.” 

He took off and went straight to the kitchen, where Peter and Isaac were cutting fruit for dessert. 

“You’re gonna bring in Erica’s parents, aren’t you?” Stiles asked without preamble. 

Peter, to his credit, merely inclined his head. “Took you long enough to come to that conclusion.” 

“That’d be awesome for Erica, but why so soon?” Stiles pressed. “You still barely know her … oh, fuck me.” 

“Whenever you’re ready,” Peter quipped, grinning, “but why exactly?” 

“Has she talked to you about wanting the bite?” Stiles asked, ignoring his sudden flush and involuntary perk up. Thankfully, Isaac did the same. He barely even twitched an eyebrow. 

Peter’s amused grin softened and he nodded. “As a matter of fact, she did. Just last week, so don’t think that she went behind your back for long. She merely wanted to find out whether she even stood a chance.” 

“Please tell me she does,” Stiles breathed. He looked over his shoulder, even though Isaac and Peter both would know immediately if someone was close enough to overhear. “Isaac said that she needs to calm down a little first, and there’s her epilepsy, but she’s great.” 

“I discussed it with Isaac and we’re of the same opinion regarding her inclusion,” Peter answered. He abandoned his cutting board and placed a hand around Stiles’ neck in a gentle gesture of reassurance. “You do know why she came to me and not to you, yes?” 

“She wouldn’t want me as her alpha?” Stiles guessed almost tonelessly. 

Peter tipped his forehead against Stiles’. “Exactly. She doesn’t want to be subordinate to you. The relationship you have with Derek isn’t for her. The same goes for Boyd, just so you won’t be surprised later.” 

Stiles couldn’t help the completely irrational feeling of abandonment. In the back of his mind, Lou was huffing discontentedly about the perceived rejection. 

“Hey, it’s not about you not being a good alpha,” Peter rumbled, stroking Stiles’ neck. “They actually put a lot of thought into their decision. They want to keep your friendship as close as possible to what it is now. That simply wouldn’t be the case if you were their alpha. They don’t want you as their caretaker and they especially don’t want to ask for your financial support when it comes to their education and other needs.” 

“Oh.” Stiles relaxed a little. “Makes sense.” He rubbed his chest. “I was often one of the last kids to be chosen during gym class. Not a great feeling, is all.” 

Peter snorted. “Those two little assholes deliberately chose me so they can continue horsing around with _you_ , sweetheart. I’d feel ill-used if it didn’t mean that you’ll always be around for their and Isaac’s sake.” 

Stiles looked up, their foreheads still touching, and their eyes met. His gaze grew hot and a little hazy - so much so that the clear lines of reality blurred a little and the wolf spirit hidden in the human flesh became visible. Peter’s answering red stare was just as searching. 

“You drive me insane,” Peter finally said roughly. 

The grip of his hand tightened slightly and Stiles was sure that he didn’t imagine the slight prick of claws against his skin. It sent a shudder down his back and caused him to lick his suddenly dry lips. 

“Could you stop with the flirting now?” Isaac interjected sharply. “Non-gay teenager here who doesn’t need your fucking sex hormones to get an unwanted erection. Thanks.” 

Violently flushing, Stiles backed away. “Oh god, I’m sorry! I don’t know why … I’ll just leave.” 

He ran from the kitchen, face flaming and heart pounding. He wanted to be angry at Isaac for putting him on the spot like that, but all he could feel was relief. Sure, that thing between him and Peter was exciting and made him feel frankly fantastic about himself, but he’d made his father _and_ Peter a promise to protect them both from prosecution and social fallout. 

Still, Stiles needed a moment to himself to cool off and get his bearings. Alone on the front porch, he breathed deeply. Shoving that sensation of closeness away seemed utterly wrong and so he allowed himself to relive it and even wallow in it for a moment. Lou was totally on board; for a werewolf spirit, he was a real lover boy that just wanted to be close to his favourite people. 

And well, Peter was certainly that to Stiles, wasn’t he? 

“Damn it,” Stiles muttered, rubbing his face with his hands in frustration. 

Silently, Isaac sidled up to him and pressed their shoulders together. “It’ll be okay, you know.” 

“I don’t see how,” Stiles replied dully. “I’m being ridiculous. What the fuck?” 

“Well, if you are, so is he,” Isaac said with a shrug. “I heard on Oprah that that makes things better.” 

Stiles sniffed quietly. “That’s bullshit. That just makes two people miserable instead of one.” He turned to his friend and leaned a little into his tall frame. “You said you don’t wanna date. Can I ask why?” 

Isaac was silent for a moment. “I do have a lot to do right now. That wasn’t a smokescreen for Erica. I just don’t feel up to it yet, emotionally. My dad was a monster, he wanted me totally dependent on him. I’m not gonna try a relationship with that kind of ghost hanging over me. I can barely think about sex without wigging out.” 

“Wow. Shit.” 

“Yeah.” Isaac rubbed his cheek against Stiles’ temple. “If you want we can be celi-bros together. We might even win Derek for our club. Poor dude's so done with women for the time being.” 

Stiles grimaced. “I don’t know whether I want to be touched or offended.” 

“Go with touched, we don’t need any more negativity in our lives,” Isaac advised, smirking. He straightened a little. “There come the Whittemores.” 

Stiles greeted Jackson’s parents warmly and sent them through the house to the garden. Jackson, however, lingered a little. 

“Shit, Stilinski, remember when I told you that you looked dumped?” the teen asked. 

Stiles narrowed his eyes a little. “Yeah. Unfortunately.” 

Jackson raised both eyebrows. “Well, you don’t, anymore. What gives? You got someone over the weekend or what?” 

“None of your business,” Isaac said easily. “You wanna something to drink? We got _everything_.” 

“Sure.” After one last, searching look at Stiles, Jackson followed Isaac, leaving Stiles behind to wait for Lydia and Danny by himself. 

**End of chapter 67**


	68. Chapter 68

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Btw, I still haven't got a beta, but I do use the free Grammarly version now. I'll probably go back and go over the older chapters as I find the time, but it'll be slow-going since there are sooo many. Thanks for your patience with my non-native fumblings. <3

**Chapter 68**

The party was, for all intents and purposes, a success. The old ladies had a whole afternoon of social interaction which didn’t consist of sniping and verbal backstabbing among each other, Jackson was hilariously coddled and stuffed with food, and Lydia and Danny didn’t look completely spooked by the casual togetherness of humans and werewolves in such a setting. 

A little after dusk had begun to fall, Danny searched out Stiles and asked him for a quiet word. 

“I don’t mind them listening in,” Danny said as they slowly walked down the street, “but I can do without the judgy looks.” 

Stiles couldn’t help it, he snorted with laughter. “Believe me, those are free anytime you don’t want them.” 

Danny quirked his own smile. “I wanted to say sorry for how I’ve decided to handle this whole situation. I’ve had some time to think about it now and talk it over with Lydia and Jackson and yeah. I was a pushy bastard when I should’ve known that it wouldn’t be welcome. I hope you can forgive me.” 

Stiles carefully looked Danny over for signs of mind control, but all he and Lou could detect was honest remorse. “Well, I guess I can make allowances for you being shocked and worried. We’ve all been there at one point. But you’d better understand that cornering supernatural beings that can rip you limb from limb is a _really_ bad idea. With all the shit that went down, Peter’s just not into stupid games and you can bet that other supernaturals will be just as unscrupulous in defending their safety.” 

“Believe me, I got that message,” Danny replied. “I just wanted to make sure that there are no hard feelings. I already promised Mr Hale that I’ll keep mum about everything, and he knows to call me if you need help with anything IT-related.” 

“Seems like you’re working towards making a deal with him,” Stiles said, slowly working through that bit of news. “That’s cool if he’s on board with it. Can I just ask why?” 

Danny was quiet for at least a dozen paces. Finally, he said, “I can’t tell you anything, not yet, mainly because I’m new to all of this, but I’ve been made aware that being on good terms with the local pack has some serious advantages.” 

“You’ve been made aware … you don’t mean by _us_ ,” Stiles said, staring at Danny. “You’d have just said ‘by you’ if that were the case. Who told you!” 

“I can’t tell, yet,” Danny repeated, grimacing apologetically. “I wish I could, but I’m bound to secrecy. And no, that’s no figure of speech.” 

“What.” Stiles halted him with a hand on his arm. “A _magic user_ bound you to secrecy? Do they live in Beacon Hills? Are they dangerous to us?” 

Danny smiled wryly. “No, they aren’t. You would have noticed if that were the case, believe me.” 

“Hm.” Stiles let go of the other teen and they resumed their slow walk. 

“You’re really too smart for your own good,” Danny continued, almost idly. “Not that I had any doubts about it, and I did warn them. If it’s any consolation, I trust you. I trust you to do right by Jackson, even if it frustrates both of you, and I trust you to keep your friends and even the city safe. You already proved that to me in the garage and later at the hospital, but also just in how you’re continuing to visit Jackson and be there for him. It means a lot to him, you know. Even if he doesn’t say it.” 

“Seems a little out of the left field to tell me all of that,” Stiles pointed out. “We’ve never had much to do with each other.” 

“Such is the supernatural, apparently.” Danny shrugged. “It either brings people together or tears them apart.” He looked at Stiles then, open and compassionate. “I’m sorry for what McCall has done to you and your dad. I didn’t think he had it in him.” 

“Yes, well, his best friend privileges have been permanently revoked and given to a far more deserving candidate,” Stiles said. If his voice was a little hoarse, Danny didn’t comment on it. “It still hurts like a bitch - he helped kidnap my dad, for fuck’s sake - but it’s getting better. I’m looking forward to the day when we can get together with his mom again without either of us tearing up or experiencing intense feelings of rage.” 

“That bad?” Danny looked like he couldn’t quite believe it, or thought it was hyperbole. 

Stiles sighed. “Well, the tearing up thing is far more likely to happen but Scott does look a lot like her so it sneaks up on me sometimes when I see her around. It’s not her damn fault so I try not to be like that around her.” 

“Harsh, man. You found really good ones in Isaac, Erica and Boyd, though. They won’t pull bullshit like that,” Danny said. He smiled tentatively. “I’m a little envious, to be honest. I only ever really had Jackson and Lydia. They’re great and I love them to pieces, but they’re just two people.” 

Stiles raised a sceptical eyebrow. “You’re always surrounded by lots of people.” 

“Yes, but they’re just that. People. Acquaintances, mostly,” Danny returned. “Maybe it’s the gay thing that I can’t seem to get close to anyone else, I don’t know.” 

“It’s not the gay thing,” Stiles said with a scoff. “Are you saying that you want to give my friends and I a chance because you’re feeling lonely?” 

Danny shrugged. “Lydia and Jackson feel drawn to you after what happened and, well, I’ve always known that you’re a solid guy. I just didn’t feel like we had a lot in common. If I want to spend any meaningful time with Lyds and Jackson now, I need to be on good terms with you.” 

“Geez, don’t hurt yourself to butter me up,” Stiles said and rolled his eyes. 

“I don’t mean it like that,” Danny assured him, still smiling. “While I’m not happy that my friends got hurt, I see this as a chance. Isaac, Erica and Boyd seem like good people. They’ve all changed a lot for the better since you befriended them and I guess … I guess I wanna find out whether the same will happen to me.” 

“What if it does? What if it changes you, but you come to hate it?” Stiles asked. “Short of leaving Beacon Hills, things could become really messy between us.” 

“It could, but that’s true for every friendship, isn’t it?” Danny countered. “I like to think that discovering the supernatural helped me see that there are people out there who actually care for long-lasting and productive relationships. It helps that packs are usually for life.” 

“Yes, but _they are for life_.” Stiles huffed. “Look, I mean no disrespect, but latching onto the first pack of werepeople you come across might not be the best idea. There might be people out there who fit you better than us.” 

“There might be,” Danny agreed easily, “and I’ll probably meet some of them as time goes on. But I gotta tell you that I genuinely like what I’ve seen of your pack so far, okay? Just … accept that, please. I’m not looking to crash your party, but I’d very much like a chance to meet you all properly and get to know you. I think it could be good.” 

“Hmpf,” Stiles grumbled. “There you go again being all cute and shit. It’s the fucking dimples, you asshole.” 

“Does it work?” Danny laughed. 

Stiles sighed dramatically. “Some. There’ll be rules. For one, leave Derek alone. He’s not remotely interested in a relationship, and even if he were bi-curious, which he’s not, he’d shoot you down harder than you can blink.” 

“I understand,” Danny said softly. “Bad experience?” 

“You have no idea,” Stiles muttered. “Two, the others would probably like getting to know you, but they haven’t been treated well at all at school, so just take it slow. Tag along if they invite you, and you can offer outings if you’ve got something that might interest them, but don’t press if they say no for some reason.” 

“Sounds very reasonable,” Danny agreed. “What about you? How can I prove myself to you?” 

“By not being a douchebag. That covers a lot of stuff, most prominently the not betraying us part. No blabbing to hunters or mundanes about anything concerning the pack and the assorted families if you can help it. If you’ve got concerns, you can always come and talk to all of us, even my dad. Jackson’s parents will both be in the know soon enough, and I guess Lydia’s mom will follow sometime. She hasn’t said, yet.” 

“Lydia decided to sit on it until her parents’ divorce is through,” Danny offered. “Her mom’s so busy that she forgets that she even has a kid half the time.” 

“Ouch. Sounds like it won’t be pretty.” 

Danny winced. “Her dad’s an asshole. He’s got a side chick in Atlanta, and apparently, he’s also got a little gambling problem. Mrs Martin is busy suing for child support and what have you before he can lose it all.” 

“Double ouch.” Stiles grimaced. “Thanks for telling me. I won’t mention it to her, but it’s good to know.” 

“Yeah, if Lydia’s in a beastly mood it’s probably not her period.” 

Both boys looked at each other in horror, Danny paling at having said that and Stiles sputtering at having heard it. 

“Anyway, I understand the keeping silent thing,” Danny said hastily. “Jackson told me a little about the Argents, and of course I’ve done my own research on them, especially after they left town in disgrace.” 

“About that …” 

And Stiles grilled Danny about the Argents’ most recent movements all the way back to the house. 

oOo

That night, Stiles made it a point to spend some quality time with just Jackson, Lydia, and Danny. It wasn’t exactly comfortable since there truly wasn’t a lot of common ground between them if one pushed aside the supernatural issue, but it also wasn’t terrible. Jackson, naturally, felt the least at ease with the visit, even if he did appreciate the ladies’ pampering via cake a lot, and Lydia surprisingly was the most forward. 

“I’ve been exchanging emails with Peter,” she told Stiles when he wanted to know how her education about being a banshee was coming along. Her shrewd eyes took in his every tiny reaction. “He’s a skilled conversationalist, I have to give him that.” 

Stiles was still feeling the raw intimacy of his and Peter’s _moment_ earlier and managed not to rise to the bait. It was a close call, though, because Lydia was nothing if not beautiful, and boys and not a few grown men, too, fell under her spell all too easily. “And what are you conversing about?” 

Her red lips pursed slightly, clearly disappointed that Stiles hadn’t shown any insecurity. “Mostly the texts he’s sent me to read. Our discussions about them are quite stimulating.” 

Jackson rolled his eyes. “Do you want to tell me something, Lydia? Am I _boring_ you?” 

Stiles, who had no desire to mediate a lovers’ spat, interjected, “How’s it going? Are you still in the theoretical stage, or are you using your powers already? If so, what for?” 

“No, we haven’t gotten that far, yet,” Lydia admitted. “Apparently, a solid theoretical foundation is key to finding my way through the manifestation of my gifts. Under ideal circumstances, a member of my family would have taught me from early childhood.” 

“It begs the question who in her family was also a banshee, doesn’t it?” Danny asked quietly. 

“It’s not my mom,” Lydia huffed, “and no one else in my mother’s family has shown any sort of otherworldly abilities either.” 

“Maybe they’re very good at hiding it,” Jackson said and it was clear that they’d had that discussion before. “Or it could come from your sperm donor’s side of things.” 

“That’s ridiculous,” Lydia said with a glare. “I told you to stop saying that.” 

“Well, if they’re not around much, you wouldn’t know, would you?” Stiles interrupted the upcoming argument. He turned to Jackson, an idea forming in his mind. “It’s not a bad idea to investigate that lot. Do you feel up to that task? Maybe with Danny’s help?” 

“Shouldn’t _I_ be doing it?” Lydia asked frostily. 

“You obviously don’t want to, so why even bother?” Stiles replied. “Give them what they need to know to begin and we’ll see what turns up.” 

“What are we looking for?” Danny asked. “Without a familial connection, we just can’t call them and ask personal questions.” 

Stiles nodded. “True, but you _can_ find out whether someone was on meds or in the hospital for a while. Look for bouts of therapy, too, but leave the files alone. If it gets too thorny, back off, Danny. We only need a general idea if it’s worth investigating further.” 

“Understood,” Danny said softly. He actually looked glad to have a job. 

“How can _I_ help with that?” Jackson muttered sullenly. “I’m no good with hacking.” 

“But you probably have met quite a few of the relatives over the years,” Stiles answered. “So you know who’s a bit cooky, or which relative rarely showed up because of health reasons or whatever.” 

“Huh. True.” Jackson lost his scowl and looked pensieve. “Alright.” 

Lydia narrowed her eyes at Stiles. “You’re good, I’ll give you that, but it’s _my_ family. I’ll help.” 

Stiles smiled impishly at her. “Excellent. Is the end of summer enough time for you?” 

“Please,” Lydia said snippily and inspected a red fingernail. “We’ll have the information by the end of next week.” 

“You _are_ good, Stiles,” Danny snickered and took a long draft of his chilled lemonade. 

oOo

It was past midnight when the guests finally left the party. Erica’s parents protested, naturally, when Stiles’ father insisted on cleaning up what was left of the dishes himself, but Erica managed to wrangle them out the door and towards their car before they could slip back and do it anyway. 

“I can’t even with those people,” John said, shaking his head. He pointed at Isaac and Derek who’d stayed behind when Peter had left. “You don’t mind helping out a little, do you?” 

“Of course not, sir,” Derek said and meandered back out into the garden to collect the garbage and bring in the used dishes and cutlery. 

“I’ll take care of the grill,” Isaac said and followed. 

Stiles clapped his father on the shoulder. “It was a pretty good party, wasn’t it, pops?” 

“It was,” the sheriff agreed. He laid a hand on Stiles’ back, the touch grounding and comforting. “It was good to talk to some adults in a private setting. Reminds me that I should get out more, live a little. Now that Jackson’s dad is no longer the district attorney I can see myself having a beer with him every now and then.” 

“Jackson’s mom is fierce,” Stiles said. “I didn’t know that she handles the city’s Reading Kids charity finances. That’s one of the largest charities in the county.” 

“She also coordinates the legal counsel with her husband,” his father reminded him. “She’s a legal aide herself, although she hasn’t worked in that capacity for several years.” 

_Since Jackson had his utter meltdown after finding out about the adoption_ , Stiles mentally added. _Which, wow_. 

“I had no idea that it was so bad that she had to stay home for Jackson,” Stiles said out loud. “That adds a whole new dimension to the issue, doesn’t it?” 

“Adopted kids often suffer from abandonment issues, even if there was never any indication of their parents leaving them behind.” The sheriff sighed. “I had to learn that, obviously. And then I also had to understand that biological kids aren’t immune to that type of fear, either.” 

“Dad …” Stiles breathed, throat constricting. Around him, the mountain ash tightened its grip and Lou sent a feeling of warmth that enveloped him like liquid honey. “Can we not?” 

“No, kid, we never quite talked about it, and I think we need to. I was an absentee parent at best these last years, and negligent in part at worst. You had the lion’s share of the housework on top of school since your mother died and that was just not okay. _I’m sorry_. I’ll make it up to you, of course, in any way I can. I just needed to say that before my courage left me again.” 

“I was angry sometimes, and I missed you,” Stiles murmured, casting his eyes to his awkwardly shuffling feet, “but I _understood_.” 

“But it’s not okay,” his father replied, sounding so worn and tired. “And I need it to be okay between us, Stiles. Before this new thing in your life sweeps you away completely. I just need you to know that I’m here, that I’m never going anywhere. No matter what.” 

Stiles looked up, fury bursting through him like a little explosion. “If this new thing in _our_ life sweeps me away, you’ll be right beside me, dad. You wanna make it up to me? You can start by fucking stopping to assume that you don’t have a place in it.” 

They stared at each other, the sheriff shocked and Stiles so angry that his eyes were hot and glowing. 

“Hell, kid,” John said shakily. He ran a trembling hand through his hair and then put it over his mouth. “I don’t want to cramp your style. All this … I’ve no idea how to handle it. I’d just be in the way.” 

“You’re not cramping my style, not even with … with Peter, and you’re doing pretty well.” Stiles forced himself to take a breath. “You’re my fucking _family_. You’ll be there _or else_ , you get me, old man?” 

The sheriff blinked against the wet sheen in his eyes. “Yeah, I get you.” 

“Good. And since you’re being so accommodating right now, you can finally sign the fucking contract with me and Peter. If you being around means you have to get the bite, you’d better consent to it. I’m not letting you die because of some preventable bullshit.” 

“I can’t be a werewolf,” his father protested, though he did so quietly. 

“And you probably won’t become one. Between the super dudes - and hopefully dudettes in the future - and my healing stuff, I’m pretty fucking certain that it won’t have to come to that, but for a last resort, it’s damn powerful,” Stiles argued. “Sign the contract, pops. Be a part of our pack. We’re not a family yet, not with everyone, but we could be. I _want_ to be. Plus, you always wanted at least one more kid. That’s your chance, man, that’s your chance.” 

A laugh burst out of the sheriff. It was a bit abrupt, but it was honest. “Alright,” he said, sort of wobbly, “alright. I’ll sign the contract, and I’ll adopt half a dozen werewolf kids. Why not?” 

Stiles lit up with hope. Quite literally. A soft sheen of light was emanating from his tanned skin and he felt his eyes go warm again. “Really?” 

“Really.” John smiled like he couldn’t believe how awesome his kid was. “Come here now, it’s time for a dad hug, you little scamp.” 

Stiles threw himself into the embrace and clutched his father tightly. The comforting scent took on a new dimension as Lou got in on it and crawled all over the sheriff’s back in his own imitation of a hug. It felt like drowning in the softest and most secure cloud, ever, and Stiles never wanted to leave that safe, warm place again. 

Then there was a soft whine, followed by a quiet chuff, and two pairs of strong arms surrounded them further and the heady smell of _dad_ became the even more addictive smell of _familyfriendssummersafetyhappiness_. 

**End of chapter 68**


	69. Chapter 69

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't say it often enough, but your comments really brighten up my day. Thank you so much for taking the time to let me know what you think about the story, which parts amused or enraged or moved you. I hope that I'll be able to continue to entertain you so well! 
> 
> Warning for this chapter: Talk of mental health issues, a panic attack, and generally difficult times for everyone involved. Please tread carefully. *hugs*

**Chapter 69**

During the following week, Mr Whittemore brought information about Scott. Some of it was par for the course, but some of it was definitely unwelcome. 

“I don’t understand how Scott is even allowed to send letters to us if there’s a restraining order,” Stiles scowled. The day had started so well with a great breakfast and an hour of Call of Duty with Isaac, and now his mood was shot to all hell. 

Whittemore sighed. “Well, someone in the prison is a soft-hearted moron. They’re already being under review so there shouldn’t be any more letters, but these three made it through.” 

The sheriff, who had driven home when Jackson’s father had announced his visit, frowned. “I don’t like how easily people fall for Scott’s puppy dog face. I’m not sorry that the person responsible for slipping you the letters will probably get put on probation, if not fired.” 

“You shouldn’t be. Those regulations exist for a reason,” Mr Whittemore said calmly. “To avoid a conflict of interest I thought I’d bring you copies of the letters, in case you’re interested in what the boy has to say, but I’ll keep the originals and lodge a complaint with the district attorney and the judge. Officially you never saw them.” 

“Can’t we just throw them into a fire?” Stiles asked angrily. 

“You probably shouldn’t, if only to get a picture of McCall’s mental state.” Whittemore pulled a slim sheaf of paper from his briefcase and slid the papers over the kitchen table. “I took the liberty of forwarding another copy to Peter since McCall nearly managed to get him killed. It’s _interesting_ reading.” 

“That’s a-okay with me,” Stiles said. “Now that you’ve reminded me what a murderous little shit Scott is, _why_ is he allowed to get out for therapy and work again?” 

By his side, Isaac was nodding empathically. 

Mr Whittemore grimaced. “I know, it’s a travesty. But this brings me to the marginally more palatable part of this meeting; Mr McCall’s therapist has her practice at the very opposite border of the city. Her name is Marin Morrell and she’s just set up her practice. McCall is one of her first patients. I’ve made an appointment with her to talk in detail about the restraining order and get a feel for her. I’ll keep you all informed.” 

“Thank you, David. We appreciate it,” the sheriff murmured. “Was that all?” 

“Not exactly. I wanted to thank you again for the barbeque. It was good meeting the parents and guardians of my son’s circle of friends.” Whittemore smiled briefly at Stiles and Isaac. “I wasn’t sure you could pull it off, but Jackson had a good time as well. He seems relaxed, at least far more relaxed than I expected him to be after that horrible attack.” 

“And we’re glad that he’s willing to go along with Stiles’ plan,” Stiles’ father said. “We’re all very aware of how it must grate to not know about yourself like that. At least we have it on good authority that Jackson’s other half is on board with it. He’ll help as much as he can, or at least that’s what Stiles told me.” 

“He’s pretty great,” Stiles added and motioned for Isaac to turn on the digicam they used for stuff they didn’t want to get hacked. “Remember how Peter told us that kanimas lack a personality? Well, I’m not sure that’s true for this guy. He seems like he knows what he wants. Look, those are pictures from last night. I introduced Isaac to Scalyboy and had them play catch with a lacrosse ball for a while. It’s not much and I think they both humoured me there, but it was a good first bonding exercise.” 

Mr Whittemore took the camera and flipped through the pictures. When he found the video, his breath caught. “Oh my god.” 

“It’s different seeing him up close and in motion, isn’t it?” the sheriff asked gently. 

Whittemore could only nod, a stricken look on his pale features. 

“He’s still your son, Dave,” Stiles’ father reminded the man quietly. “Scalyboy - you really need to find a better name than that, kids - agreed to protect your family and he agreed to merge with Jackson as soon as it is possible to do so. Once that’s done, he’ll be just like Isaac or the Hales.” 

“In my head, I know that,” Mr Whittemore whispered. He swallowed and his mouth tightened. “It’s just … difficult. Seeing what the attack made of him.” 

Stiles cleared his throat. “It’s been bad, I’m not gonna lie, but in a way, it also helped? I mean, without this whole supernatural stuff Jackson would probably still be a miserable douchebag. He wouldn’t go to therapy and he wouldn’t actively try to find more friends, which sort of is all to the good.” 

“Yeah, he’s almost been decent lately,” Isaac went on. “The price was maybe too high, but if he’s gonna have to live with it, he can at least make the most of it, right?” 

“I understand the sentiment. I do. It’s just _such_ a violation,” Mr Whittemore sighed. “Seeing with my own two eyes what that attack made of my kid is horrifying. If it wouldn’t get me killed, I’d love to take a sawed-off shotgun to the bastard who did it.” 

“I know the sentiment,” the sheriff muttered. He patted Whittemore’s back. “I’d leave that to the experts, though. There’s less drama and less chance of prosecution that way.” 

“I bet you never thought you’d say those words,” Whittemore chuckled weakly. “Jesus Christ.” He played the short video again. “At least his … other form? Other half?” 

“I call him Jackson’s better half,” Stiles teased. 

Grateful for the attempt at levity, Mr Whittemore nodded. “His _better_ half looks content in your presence. If he thinks that he and Jackson can coexist and have a happy life together, I’ll do everything I can to support them.” 

“You already did,” Isaac said. “You literally don’t have to do anything differently. Just be there for him. Mrs Whittemore too, once she’s read in.” 

“It’ll probably happen this weekend,” Whittemore admitted. “Peter made her curious already, and Zia isn’t stupid. She definitely knows that something is going on.” He offered Stiles a half-smile. “I’m actually looking forward to your presentation again, but it’s probably for the best that Peter gives it. Zia can be a dragon where the family is concerned.” 

“Peter can answer the hard questions,” Stiles agreed without shame. “But, uh, if she needs additional info, I’m on hand, okay? Me being Scalyboy’s alpha might be … difficult for her to understand.” 

“Thank you,” Mr Whittemore said. He handed the camera back, although he looked a little wistful. “Don’t take it the wrong way, but dealing with Peter and your family has made my life into a rollercoaster.” 

“Yep, mine too,” John said dryly. “But I’m in for the ride. So far, the kids and Hale have done a good job, considering what they had to work with.” 

Whittemore’s pale eyes glanced at Stiles. “Agreed. Werewolves are one thing, but magic quite another. I hope we get to see what life is like when no one’s out to kill us.” 

Isaac shrugged, always the pragmatic one. “We’d still have a lot of work to do, but all the interesting stuff will make up for it.” 

“At least we’re pretty sure it will,” Stiles said thoughtfully. 

“Maybe you should quit while you’re ahead,” the sheriff suggested. 

That made Mr Whittemore laugh. “Oh, they’re alright, John.” He nodded at the teens. “Thanks for having me, and including me in Jackson’s … I guess we’ll have to call it a journey or something like that? Anyway, I appreciate getting updates. Please don’t stop, okay?” 

“Of course not, you’re his dad,” Stiles answered easily. “We can only do it in person for security reasons, but that’s another opportunity for bonding so it isn’t too bad. Uh, I hope. Sir.” 

“No, it’s fine,” Jackson’s father assured him with a faint smile. He stood. “I have to go back to the office now, but you all have my number and my email address. If you need anything, just holler.” 

“Will do,” the sheriff promised. To Stiles and Isaac, he said, “You have a look at those letters and don’t go anywhere without Derek. Those Lobos Locos have concrete plans to nab you and I don’t want to give them the chance.” 

“Alright,” Stiles said and gave him a thumbs-up. “Should I bring lunch to the station later or are you gonna head out?” 

“Bring it, I know that Peter made scallops with porcini cream sauce. No way am I going to miss out on that.” 

“Oh my god, really? I love that dish,” Mr Whittemore said, sombre mood all but forgotten. “Would there be enough for two?” 

“Sure, Stiles can deliver it to your office. Around one sound good?” 

The two men left and Isaac wasted no time placing the first page of the first letter in front of himself and Stiles. 

_June 21, 2011_

_Hello Stiles,_

_How are you? I hope you’re okay again after you got hurt, but you should be, right? It’s been two months now. I’m still sort of confused about that since healing was so much faster when I still was a werewolf._

At this, Stiles already had to stop and take a deep breath to quell his anger. 

“Wow, he’s just putting it out there,” Isaac said, shaking his head. “He does know that his mail is being screened?” 

“His dad is a fucking FBI agent, he does know. They likely told him when they collected his letter, too,” Stiles replied, barely holding on to his civility. 

Isaac leaned against him and together they forced themselves to read on. 

_I guess I only realized what the bite gave me when you took my wolf away. Which was pretty rough, to be honest. It hurt, Stiles. Why did you have to do that? I understand that you were worried for your dad, but if you could use mountain ash why couldn’t you just put a circle around me or something? Now I’m having trouble breathing again and mom went nuclear on me for getting myself into this mess. _

Isaac ground his teeth. “What an asshole.” 

_Don’t get me wrong, I know I fucked up. And I know that I wanted to be normal again, but I didn’t know how sucky normal was_. _You understand that, don’t you? Do you still have my wolf? Can we talk? Mom said that you got a restraining order, but that’s for normal stuff, right? This is about really important stuff. Even if I’ve got to stay in prison, I need my wolf back. Mom says I might die from asthma if I’m not careful because the available medicine isn’t as good as what I used to have, and the prison people won’t change their laundry detergents and other chemicals just for me. They say it’s already intended for allergic people so I’ll have to suck it up._

_But I can’t suck it up. It’s terrible here. Please write back and say that you’ll come and talk._

_-Scott_

“What the actual fuck?” Isaac said into the stunned silence. 

Stiles, who’d been so angry just seconds before, just couldn’t find the energy to explode as he’d initially wanted to. “Yeah, welcome to Scotty’s world. There, everything is forgotten as soon as he needs something.” He slowly went over the letter again but the words didn’t change, no matter how much he wanted them to. Not even his will and his magic could make Scott’s self-absorbed rambling any better. “I’m a moron for never noticing before he got bitten.” 

“Yeah, it’s almost like all of Peter’s pent-up douchebaggery got transferred to McCall with the bite,” Isaac sneered. He shoved the two sloppily written pages away and placed the next letter before them. “I’ve half a mind of questioning him if that’s possible, but Lou is such a doofus that it must be all McCall.” 

Stiles smiled, relieved. “Lou’s glad you think so. He hated Scott a lot towards the end.” 

_July 8th_

_Stiles,_

_You haven’t written or called even though Warden Cornfoot promised to post my letter. Are you alright? Is Mr Whittemore giving you a hard time over the restraining order? He’s such a hardass, no wonder Jackson’s such a douche, right? Anyway, I’m sure you could find a way around that; you’re clever! Just in case you really can’t I’ve also asked my new lawyer to invite you for a visit. She said she’d talk to Mr Whittemore about it but I wish she’d just call your dad or something. Since he’s the sheriff, that should be enough, don’t you think?_

_Anyway, how’s your summer? Are you still hanging around with Isaac? What are you doing? Please tell me you’re not playing CoD with him. He’s probably super bad at it, what with having never played it and all_ _._

_Also, can you tell me something that’s not in the newspaper? What are you up to? Mom refuses to tell me about you or anyone else. She won’t even talk to me about Allison, even though Allison hasn’t done anything wrong._

_I miss you, man._

_-Scott_

“Wow,” Stiles said woodenly at the end of the, thankfully short, missive. “He not only insulted Mr Whittemore and Jackson, but he also insulted you as well _and_ alluded to your sucky home life. I bet he wrote that utter garbage with the sweetest face, the fucking psycho.” 

Isaac’s eyes widened and he paled. “Shit. Stiles!"

"What?" Stiles asked, alarmed.

Isaac's eyes began to glow and one of his suddenly appearing claws punctured the letter. "That's it. That’s _exactly_ what he is.” 

Stiles’ mouth dropped open. “What?” 

“Well, his behaviour fits the bill, doesn’t it?” Isaac explained, waving a hand at the letter. “He’s doing what he thinks is right, regardless of what others think about it or whether it might harm them. He also tries to gaslight you like it’s going out of style, right there, and he has a seriously unhealthy obsession with Allison Argent.” 

“Well, she wasn’t very sweet either underneath her Disney princess facade so I'd say they deserve each other,” Stiles said, still shocked. With great dismay, he suddenly realized that Isaac might be right. Probably _was_ right. “Oh.” 

“Yeah, oh. Like calls to like, isn’t that the saying?” 

Stiles shook his head in denial. “No way, come on. Scott was fine before he got turned!” 

“Maybe all that was holding him back were his physical limitations,” Isaac countered. “He’s got the charisma to charm people, the tendency to obsess, the disregard for others’ feelings, possessions, _and_ safety and he’s feeling superior to almost everyone else. Even worse, he looks good enough to not come across as a total creeper even at a fifth glance. Why do you think people cave to his manipulations so easily?” 

“My dad _just_ said something like that, didn’t he,” Stiles said breathlessly. The shock just wouldn’t let go. Quite to the contrary, the icy fingers of horrified surprise crept from Stiles’ stomach up to his chest and all over his back, sending Lou into a frantic search for a danger that wasn’t physically present around them. “Holy shit.” 

Isaac watched with a pinched face as Stiles fumbled with his phone to send his father a message. “Do you think it’ll make a difference?” 

“I don’t know,” Stiles croaked. “But he’ll get evaluated for that now. Now that you’ve said it …” 

“It’s sorta obvious,” Isaac finished the sentence. He pushed his chair right next to Stiles’ and wound his arm tightly around his shoulders. “But it’s no wonder so many people never notice if someone like him lives and murders next door. I wouldn’t have thought it of McCall in a million years if we weren’t in the middle of his fuckedupness.” 

Stiles felt his breath leave him and he gasped painfully at the reminder of his dad's kidnapping. 

“Shit, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. Is that a panic attack?” Isaac asked frantically. “It _is_ a panic attack. Fuck, fuck, please keep breathing, Stiles. Fuck.” 

Stiles allowed his friend to manoeuvre his head between his knees and splay his large, warm hand on his back to anchor him. As if through a fog he heard Isaac call someone. After that, it was one breath after the other until his chest didn’t feel like it was being crushed by an angry minotaur anymore, and darkness welcomed him in her arms. 

oOo

“You know, it’s almost funny that I didn’t see McCall for what he really is,” Peter mused. His hand smoothly carded through Stiles’ hair. 

“Wha’ happen’d?” Stiles asked fuzzily. “We’re in bed?” 

“We are,” Peter confirmed. “I sent Isaac and Derek to deliver the food to your father and David after they’d escorted you to your room. You had a pretty serious panic attack over The Failure.” 

“Oh.” Stiles groaned and sluggishly rolled himself into a ball. “Just what I needed.” 

Peter continued his petting of Stiles’ hair and hummed. “I half wished that Lou would be able to prevent such unpleasantness from happening, but apparently he’s not.” 

“I think he tried,” Stiles murmured, fighting to make sense of the memory particles floating around his brain. “I’ve got images of me getting up the stairs but I know for a fact I blacked out in the kitchen.” 

“He did well,” Peter praised. “As did one of your healing cards. All your organs function normally and you’re not sending out any more chemical stress signals.” 

“What about Scott?” Stiles asked. He closed his eyes and relaxed into the soothing touch. 

“That’s not something we can do anything about, unfortunately,” Peter replied after some hesitation. “Isaac and Derek alerted your father and begged him to hold off until they’d double-checked the markers for psychopathy, but their five-minute internet binge only confirmed their suspicion. Your father then informed David, naturally, and he informed the judge. Ms Morrell and a court-affiliated psychiatrist will both evaluate The Failure to that effect. Since a diagnosis would influence the trial, they have to.” 

“It’ll kill Melissa,” Stiles said, fighting against his tears. In his mind, Lou was whining loudly and on his skin the mountain ash was crawling along, looking for enemies. 

“I hope not,” Peter said soothingly. “I find that I quite like her, despite having spawned the little hellion. I blame her ex-husband, frankly.” 

Stiles sniffed. “Yeah, he’s an asshole.” He rubbed his face. “Can I have a hug?” 

“Sweetheart, you can have anything you want from me,” Peter rumbled. “Come here.” 

It should’ve sounded skeevy, but instead, it was a lifeline for Stiles. He fought himself upright and swung himself astride Peter’s lap with a needy sound. 

“Oof,” Peter huffed when Stiles wound himself around his neck like an octopus and held on fast. Only a moment later the werewolf’s arms closed around Stiles’ torso in return and he buried his nose in the bend of Stiles’ neck. “It’ll be okay, Stiles. The Failure is behind bars, he won’t be able to hurt you and yours again. Him exhibiting signs of psychopathy won’t change that.” 

Stiles shuddered a little. “I can’t believe how close he was to my dad for all these years.” 

“To be fair - and I can’t believe I’m even saying this - he wasn’t a threat until I happened to him,” Peter murmured. “The bite opened up that can of worms and I won’t ever be able to atone for that.” 

“You couldn’t have known,” Stiles argued tiredly. 

“Maybe I did,” Peter answered. He sniffed Stiles’ skin deeply, intimately, and held on even tighter. “Isaac told me that he thought that The Failure’s psychopathy might’ve called to Allison Argent’s brand of crazy, and that might even be true. But _if_ it’s true, the same logic must be applied to me, mustn’t it?” 

“You were _legit_ insane when you bit Scott,” Stiles protested. “That’s not the same thing!” 

“Isn’t it?” Peter asked. He slowly let go of Stiles and pushed him carefully away, just enough so they could look at each other. “We had that discussion already and you forgave me, but this changes things.” 

“It does not,” Stiles said thickly. His fingers clenched in the soft fabric of Peter’s stormy blue henley. 

“Yes, it does,” Peter insisted. “I woke up a fucking teen psycho, Stiles. You’ll not change my mind.” 

For the first time, Stiles made his eyes grow warm and flash their new red colour. “You’re not gonna be all noble and shit and leave me alone now. That’s _unacceptable_.” 

“On that, we agree,” Peter said, letting his own eyes glow red in response. “I’ve quite decided that you’re stuck with me, but I do need to do penance for more than just bringing chaos to your life. The Failure is a threat to everyone now, not just us specifically. He’s even a threat to himself, whether he realizes it or not.” 

Stiles couldn’t help it, his eyes welled up with frustrated tears. “Why is this whole supernatural shtick both so great and so horrible at the same time?” 

“Because it’s not for the faint of heart,” Peter replied softly and wiped the wetness from Stiles’ eyes with his thumbs. “Rant and rage as much as you need to; that’s okay. I’m your punching bag if you require one. But when that’s done, we’ll dust ourselves off and devise contingency plans for _everything_ that could go wrong.” 

“That _everything_ won’t know what hit it,” Stiles huffed and wiped away the last of his tears. “I’m so done with threats to my family and friends and I’m tired of flipping out every other week.” 

“You do it very charmingly,” Peter assured him with a sharp smile. His hands settled on Stiles’ hips, warm and full of intent, and he cocked his head. “Isaac and Derek are back. Seems like the time for being horrified is over for now.” 

“I’m sure we’ll find some more time for that later,” Stiles sighed. Reluctantly he climbed off of Peter’s lap and settled into a lazy half-lotus position. “Do you know what’s the worst thing about all of this?” 

“No, what?” Peter asked. 

“That I didn’t even make it through all of the letters before losing my shit,” Stiles said self-deprecatingly and earned himself an amused snort. “Does that count as an evil superpower for Scott?” 

“Definitely,” Peter quipped. He rose and rolled his shoulders. “I’ll let David know that people need to keep an eye on The Failure even if they think they don’t. It wouldn’t do to have him smarm his way out of prison before he’s paid for his crimes.” 

Stiles mouthed the word ‘smarm’ as he stared at Peter. “Okay. Thanks. And, uh, you know, I’ll be okay with … with contingency plans for Scott. Because we both know that he won’t just give up.” 

Peter’s expression grew sort of hungry. “I'll have to reward your understanding and patience with something spectacular, sweetheart. Such consideration is far more than I deserve, and that’s no hyperbole.” 

“We’ll figure _everything_ out,” Stiles returned their long-established motto, a little subdued with emotional exhaustion and yet hopeful. 

“Yes,” Peter said softly, trailing a hand over Stiles’ shoulder while his glowing eyes were fixed on his face. “Yes, we will.” 

**End of chapter 69**


	70. Chapter 70

**Chapter 70**

Stiles saw no reason to keep his latest case of the wobblies from his friends, or even from Jackson, Lydia, and Danny. Right in the next morning as they met for an elaborate breakfast, he told them about Scott’s smuggled letters and the realization he and Isaac had had about Scott’s behaviour. 

“You’re not wrong,” Lydia commented as everyone digested this news. “Now that you’ve mentioned it, some of it does point in the psychopathy direction. But there might be sociopathy involved as well.” 

“How do you figure?” Isaac asked, popping the last bite of his scrambled eggs in his mouth. “And how do you know?” 

Lydia flushed. “Well, my mother was concerned when an intelligence test my kindergarten teacher recommended came back … high. I was regularly evaluated as a consequence. Anyway, McCall clearly didn’t care at all what the fallout of his collaboration with that hunter person would mean for the people around him. He didn’t even stop to think what losing his werewolf powers would mean to him personally. He just wanted them gone so he could be with Allison without having to fear for his life.” 

Jackson snorted. “Aren’t psychos supposed to be clever or something? That was _not_ McCall being clever. His asthma must be really kicking his ass about now.” 

“Well, he’s seventeen and fancied himself in love,” Danny said. He shrugged when everyone stared at him. “I’m just saying that hormones are a thing. Unfortunately. Who of us here _didn’t_ do stupid shit at one time or another?” 

Stiles bit his lip and glanced around, only to find that they all looked somewhat embarrassed, even Boyd. Even _Isaac_ and he’d told Stiles that he wasn’t looking for a girlfriend and never had one before either. For a second he wondered what Isaac in love would look like. 

“Right, moving on,” Stiles said, shaking those unruly thoughts away. “Scott will be evaluated and my dad and I will never let him get close to us again. Case closed.” 

“Almost closed,” Isaac corrected. “Peter wants contingency plans for just about everything. He’s adding that to your job description and you’ll all receive handouts with prompts.” 

“Any limits on how vicious we can be?” Lydia asked with a raised eyebrow. 

“We’re talking about Peter here,” Isaac said flatly. “We’re supposed to take the sheriff’s ability to make shit vanish into account, but that’s all.” 

“And I thank Peter kindly for that. It’s mostly drills for confrontations with the alpha dudes, or those locust rocker dudes because apparently they still want to nab me to cow my dad, and of course new supernatural visitors of the unfriendly sort, Jackson’s situation, you name it,” Stiles explained. 

“That sounds intellectually challenging and emotionally satisfying,” Lydia told them and took a dainty sip of her latte. “I approve.” 

“Peter’s also offering to pay for martial arts classes so everyone will be able to defend themselves better,” Isaac added. “It doesn’t matter which discipline you pick, he only cares that it gets the job done in an emergency. The threats are real, so think about it please.” 

“Sweet!” Erica exclaimed. “I’ve always wanted to learn spy stuff. Like, killing with a paperclip, or disabling people with a nerve pinch. Does that count?” 

“Taekwondo or Muay Thai,” Boyd said evenly. “ROTC was offering their version of martial arts, but those interest me more.” 

Jackson and Danny looked at each other. 

“Mixed martial arts,” Jackson decided, surprising Stiles with how reluctant he _didn’t_ sound. It seemed like he’d warmed up to the idea after their talk. 

“Wing Chun,” Danny offered with a smile. “ _Be the water, my friend_ , and all that. I’ve always wanted to go but lacrosse was taking too much of my time. I guess that’ll have to change now.” 

“You weren’t thinking of going pro, were you?” Stiles asked worriedly. “Because you could, honestly.” 

“Thanks, Stiles.” Danny smiled. “But no, I have no plans. I just wanted to join a club and be active. That was the best thing on offer so I did it.” 

“You shouldn’t feel pressured or anything,” Isaac said. “It’s just an offer, even if Peter would like it if you’d take him up on it.” 

“It’s a very sensible and generous offer,” Danny replied. “It’s alright. We’ve only one more year of school anyway and the coach already knows that I have no plans of joining a college team. I’ll remain on the team but cut training short. I wanted to do that anyway so I could study more.” 

“If you’re sure,” Stiles said, a little thrown by the support Peter’s suggestion was receiving from practically everyone. 

“And you, Lydia?” Erica asked. “What would you pick if you were to take Peter up on his offer?” 

“Aikido,” Lydia said without any hesitation. “I’m small, I’d need to use my opponent’s weight and strength against them.” She pursed her lips. “I could stand to lose a few inches. All that woe-is-me ice cream hasn’t done me any favours.” 

“You don’t need to lose weight,” Jackson said lazily with a smug smile. “I like you just the way you are.” 

Lydia’s answering smile was sharp. “And you’ll like me a few inches smaller.” 

“So you’re all gonna get in on it?” Isaac asked, smartphone in hand. “Peter created an account for your needs, just use the credit card to buy your gear and pay for the classes. The offer’s open-ended and only closes if someone leaves this group.” 

“Geographically or mentally?” Boyd asked. 

“Geography is not a factor,” Isaac replied. “As long as we’re involved like this, you’re welcome to take advantage of it.” 

Erica squealed happily, only to pout a second later. “Having enough money to do it is all well and good, but who could teach us? The dojo Stiles and Isaac go to only offers krav maga and karate, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen a studio for, well, spy stuff.” 

Stiles shrugged. “Peter will make it happen. He knows people, and now that your parents know him better he’ll talk them into it.” 

“I’ll find a studio and enrol,” Boyd declared. “Can I use one of the computers?” 

“Sure, everyone can,” Stiles said. He looked at Derek who hadn’t said a word since they’d sat down to breakfast. “How about you? Still no interest in going?” 

Derek looked over to the computer Boyd had claimed. “I know that I said I’ll join you and Isaac, but now I think I might join Boyd. He’s strong, we could spar together and build a team.” 

“That’s even better,” Stiles said, elated. “You’ll both kick so much ass!” Much softer, he added, “You’re the best.” 

Derek shrugged and looked down, but Lou signalled Stiles that he was pleased. 

It didn’t even take them an hour to find schools for their preferred sport, and after another five minutes of Isaac reassuring everyone that no, this really wasn’t a joke, everyone sent off an email or placed a call to secure their attendance. 

“Amazing what money can make possible,” Danny said, a little stunned, once it was done. “Or just perspective, I guess. The sensei told me to come in tomorrow morning for a trial.” 

“I’ve got afternoons,” Jackson complained. “I hope they have air conditioning.” 

Lydia scribbled the times for their courses onto a sheet of paper and frowned. “We’re all broken up. That’s unfortunate. What about our jobs here in the workshop?” 

“We keep doing what hours we can,” Stiles replied. “It’s unfun not to spend so much time together going forward, but this is important. If something comes up before we can talk, we’ll just leave notes or whatever. It’ll all work out.” 

“I’ll act as office manager,” Erica offered. “I can coordinate projects and stuff if it becomes necessary. But since you’ve made warding Beacon Hills our priority, the shop won’t be a problem.” 

“We can do the ward stones in a week or two,” Jackson declared. “Buy a fucking heat lamp to make the paint dry faster, it’s not like Hale can’t afford it.” 

“Not a bad idea,” Isaac said and made a note on his ever-present notepad. “The summer heat works in our favour, but it’s been humid these last few days. The lamps would make the process a little quicker.” 

Danny raised his hand. “Uh, newbie here. I don’t know whether I’m hired or not, but I’d at least like to know what’s going on.” 

It didn’t take long to bring Danny up to speed and in the end, the boy offered to help with the painting as much as he could. 

“I’ll tell Peter to prepare a contract,” Isaac said. “Same conditions as for everyone else.” 

“You’ll like those conditions,” Lydia informed Danny. “Too bad you weren’t involved when we were looking for a solution to that interrogation problem the sheriff had, the payout was _amazing_.” 

“There’ll be more opportunities,” Stiles said. “Because there’s always _something_.” 

Danny’s smile was sunny. “I honestly can’t wait. When do I start?” 

oOo

That day, they only spent a couple more hours indoors. The air was humid and sweet - all the werewolves predicted rain and thunder very shortly - and so it was decided to spend the last dry hours in the preserve where Derek was showing off his newly-warded and already pretty cleaned up property. 

“The house makes me sad,” Erica said quietly as she stood before the burned-out husk, “but your garden is coming along great. Your werewolf strength must be a huge boon.” 

“I had to drag a lot of fallen wood and other debris out of the clearing,” Derek admitted. “Once I’ve completed the garden I’ll clean up the house. Just … get everything out from inside at gro from there.” 

“What are you gonna do with it?” Jackson asked, poking around the entrance. “Seems pretty pointless if you live in town.” 

Derek glanced at Stiles. “I’m not sure yet. I thought about rebuilding it. Not for living there, more like a project.” 

“It would keep you busy for a while. A year, maybe,” Boyd said. 

Lydia swiped a finger across a sooty windowsill and frowned. “Being strong might not be enough to do it all alone. If you need help, Jackson can pitch in.” 

“Hey,” Jackson snapped. “Stop volunteering me for some stranger’s coping projects. I’ve got things to do.” 

“Yeah, not cool, Lydia,” Stiles pointed out. “It’s Derek’s house. He decides if and when he needs help. He can figure it out for himself.” 

Jackson looked uncomfortable for a second. “No offence, Derek.” 

“None taken,” Derek replied evenly. He eyed Lydia. “You’d better not volunteer _me_ for anything, either.” 

“I wouldn’t mind giving you a hand,” Boyd said after some consideration. 

A first fat raindrop fell right on Erica’s head and she squealed. 

“Time to go home,” Derek said and waved everyone towards the small makeshift parking lot where they’d parked Stiles’ Jeep and Boyd’s old but trusty Dodge. A bit farther down the path, Jackson had left his Porsche. 

They hadn’t even made it to the edge of the preserve when the skies broke open and a torrent of water rained down on the parched earth. 

Stiles had trouble seeing through his windshield and the noise of water thundering onto the roof of the Jeep was deafening. At a snail’s pace, he drove them through the forest, relying heavily on Derek and Isaac’s superior hearing and eyesight because the headlights were doing jack shit to improve visibility. 

“Careful!” Derek shouted suddenly, causing Stiles to hit the brakes hard. 

Just a couple of yards before them, a huge stag appeared out of nowhere and galloped across the path. Stiles was so pumped up with adrenaline that he saw the whites in the animal’s eyes and the foam at its mouth and didn’t feel even a bit of the burn the snagging seatbelt caused. 

“The fuck was that?” he gasped as he was thrown back into his seat. “Why did it do that?” 

The answer became clear when an enormous thunderclap shook the Jeep’s chassis down to the last screw. 

“Alright,” Isaac muttered shakily. “That’s bad.” 

For a long moment, they breathed loudly and way too fast. 

“Let’s go,” Derek eventually said. “I can drive if you don’t feel up to it.” 

Stiles took another deep breath. “Yeah, maybe you should.” On his arms, he noticed the agitatedly crawling mountain ash. “Uh, let me …” 

It was an awkward shuffle to trade places with a man that was so built but eventually, Stiles managed to get his flailing and somehow always in the wrong place limbs to the middle of the bench. His fingers were shaking as he clicked the seatbelt on. 

Derek didn’t even look out of breath, the traitor. 

“Classy,” Isaac smirked. 

“Shut it,” Stiles grunted. “You haven’t lived a _day_ with the curse that is my inability to coordinate.” 

“I was its victim often enough,” Isaac replied smugly. “I’m entitled to some gloating.” 

Derek got the car going again. They’d gone second, and thankfully Boyd hadn’t rear-ended them, although that was an ominous comfort at best under these circumstances. 

Very slowly, they finally managed to leave the forest. A short, somewhat staticky call confirmed that they’d be meeting at the diner to rest and wait out the storm. In Jackson’s case, he also needed to call the mechanic because a couple of ravens had hit his windshield and front passenger window with such force that they’d broken through. 

Stiles marvelled that he hadn’t heard Lydia’s surely impressive scream. 

Once there, they fled into the diner with just their bags and backpacks as shields against the heavy rain and ordered a huge late lunch to make up for the shock. 

“The weather forecast predicted some rain and a minor storm, but nothing like this,” Isaac said and showed them his phone as they waited for their food. His wet hair curled madly and he looked like a model in his drenched white T-shirt. “This apocalypse out there would’ve definitely caused the weather station to sound an alert.” 

“Sucks that your car got trashed,” Stiles said to Jackson, keeping his amusement at Danny’s furtive ogling to himself. “If it’s any consolation, we almost got hit by a stag.” 

Boyd grimaced. “I ran over several small somethings before I could stop, but I’ve got no idea what. There was no way to see them, they were suddenly just there.” 

“It feels like we murdered them,” Erica whispered and rubbed her upper arms. “It was spooky.” 

“It was,” Danny agreed. He’d ridden with Erica and Boyd and looked just as discomposed as them. “Please tell me it was natural, though. My nana is deathly afraid of vengeful spirits and I’ll freely admit that I can do without them as well.” 

Isaac mirrored Boyd’s grimace. “Let’s hope for the best and prepare for the worst. There _are_ at least two other magic users in town besides Stiles … one of them might’ve done this. Peter’s just messaged; he doesn’t think that this storm is in any way natural. It came far too quickly and apparently it smells _wrong_.” 

“Wrong how?” Derek asked, frowning. 

“He didn’t say.” Isaac perked up a little. “Ah, our food is here. I’m starving.” 

Surprisingly, so was everyone else. They ate their burgers and greedily slurped down their much-needed milkshakes. It took a while but the storm finally abated, leaving behind a carnage of defoliated trees and hedges. The debris littered the street and from afar they could hear the wailing of several sirens. 

“Your dad’s gonna have a rough evening,” Danny said compassionately. 

Jackson huffed. “The mechanic called back. They say I’ll have to wait until my car can get towed. They’re working the emergencies first. I’ll go and ask whether I can leave my car in the diner’s parking lot.” 

“Good idea, your windshield is a mess,” Erica agreed and shuddered. “Those poor birds. And Lydia’s still pale. You alright?” 

Lydia nodded, but there was a faraway look in her eyes. 

“Yeah, I’m not gonna drive my car while they’re stuck in there,” Jackson said. “My mom will pick us up. No idea when, though. She says our streets are littered with foliage and dead birds.” 

“I could take you,” Boyd said. “Might be best to walk the last bit, though, if the streets aren’t completely free.” 

“I’ll take it,” Lydia said quietly. She laid a hand on Jackson’s arm. “Will you come home with me? Can you stay the night?” 

Jackson’s annoyed expression softened. “Yeah. I’ll text home and tell them where I am.” 

Lydia leaned forward and kissed him, soft and sweet. “Thank you.” 

Since no one felt any desire to linger, they paid the bill and shuffled out to the parking lot. Jackson’s precious Porsche truly was a sorry sight with two large black birds rammed through the shields like unexploded missiles. There were also several nasty scratches all over the paint job and one of the hubcaps hadn’t made it back to the city. 

“It’s rude to stare,” Jackson sniped, flushing a little at the sight of the damage. “Besides, yours doesn’t look any better.” 

“No,” Stiles admitted with a sigh. “But at least my baby made it back in one piece.” 

“More or less,” Isaac muttered, running a finger along a large scratch. “Can you drive me home? Peter wants me there, but he said Derek should stay with you tonight, just in case things act up again.” 

“Sure, no problem.” 

Stiles said goodbye to everyone not riding in his car and breathed a prayer of relief when the motor started without issue. While he had some money saved now, he didn’t want to ask either his dad or Peter for money to get the Jeep repaired. With just the paint scratched up, he was just about able to finance the repairs himself. 

During the ten-minute drive, Isaac received another message and said, “Change of plans. Peter asks that you come in for a bit, Stiles. He’s got something to tell us.” 

Stiles shrugged and acquiesced. It usually wasn’t a hardship to visit Peter. 

How he wished that he hadn’t been so naive because they had barely sat at the dining table when Peter dropped two boxes of condoms in front of the teens and said matter-of-factly, “You need to get laid ASAP.” 

**End of chapter 70**


	71. Chapter 71

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cue the outrage in 3 ... 2 ... 1 ... 
> 
> I love you, don't worry. :)

**Chapter 71**

“What,” Isaac asked flatly. 

“Yes, Peter. What?” Derek growled. 

Stiles could only gape at the man in utter confusion. 

Peter’s eyes flashed red and he bared his teeth. “A fucking _darach_ has decided to decimate our wildlife for a little power boost. Soon, animals won’t be enough and they will advance to human sacrifices, virgins being a preferred type of sacrifice. Therefore I kindly ask to get laid ASAP so we can avoid at least _that_ bit of magical terrorism.” 

“Wait, what? A darach?” Stiles squeaked, sweat breaking out all over his body in terror. “Like, a dark druid? For real?” 

“It’s probably not Deaton, which makes this whole disaster even worse,” Peter snarled. His teeth lengthened and his eyes glowed even brighter. For a couple of breaths, his chest heaved as id he'd run a two-minute mile. “I hate doing this to you, especially since it’s technically illegal for you _to_ do it, but you need to change your status _now_.” 

“How?” Isaac snapped before Stiles could wail that same question. “You know that I don’t want anything to do with that for a while yet!” 

“And I don’t care,” Peter said sharply. “I’ll find a prostitute if that’s what it takes but I’m not knowingly subjecting either of you to a fucking darach’s grab for power.” 

“I haven’t … what sort of sacrifice are we talking about here?” Stiles asked shakily. Everything was in turmoil; he couldn’t even be properly horrified about the terrible sense of loss that was scratching persistently at the back of his mind. And Lou’s outraged howling wasn’t helping in the least to keep a clear head. 

“Most common for the really powerful rituals is the threefold death,” Peter explained, his body still impossibly tense and voice ringing with barely banked fury. “Bludgeoning, strangling, and the cutting of the throat.” 

“In other words, really, really unpleasant,” Derek said quietly. “ _Shit_. What about Erica and Boyd? They didn’t smell like … you know.” 

“I’ll tell them,” Stiles whispered. Out of wide, hot eyes, he stared at Peter, uncaring that Lou was running wild on his skin in impotent rage. “Just ... are you absolutely certain?” 

Peter blinked and his eyes lost their glow. “Absolutely. I want to be wrong, I do, but every single marker points to a darach on a rampage. You _have_ to take care of this.” 

Stiles licked his lips and looked down - and unfortunately right at the condoms. He _felt_ the colour leave his face as a clump of ice formed in his stomach. “I ... I don't think I can do this. Just like that.” He looked back up, willing Peter to _understand_. 

There was silence for an excruciatingly long moment. 

Then, still sounding wired, Peter said, “Let’s talk in private for a moment, sweetheart. Derek, Isaac, please inform Erica and Boyd and ask them to relay the information appropriately to as many others as possible. If we can spare even a few people from this fate, we’ve done some good.” 

Stiles swallowed, flushed, and accepted Peter’s outstretched hand to help him stand. He needed the assistance; his legs were weak and a little shaky. This _really_ wasn’t how he’d expected the evening to go. 

Entering Peter’s bedroom should’ve been momentous, Stiles reflected sadly - and in a way it still was. The room was large, slightly cool compared to the rest of the apartment, and was done in dark woods, silver-blue carpet, and matching designer bedding. Of course, everything was made up perfectly. Through the large window, evening sunlight was pouring in and painting everything a surreal gold. 

And it _smelled_ good. Like Peter’s subtle cologne, intertwined with the man’s beguiling scent. Stiles felt transported into a whole different dimension, one that only consisted of this moment where nothing else but them mattered. 

It would’ve been the best sort of dream come true if the circumstances weren’t so bleak. 

Deciding that it would be foolish to beat around the bush, Stiles stuffed his hands into his still damp jeans pockets and mumbled, “I’d hoped I’d get in here for another reason. You know, someday. When I’m no longer a little kid in anyone’s eyes.” 

It was impossible to hold Peter’s gaze, but at least he managed a short glance to gauge the man’s reaction to that confession. 

A soft look settled on Peter’s face. “You’re not to me,” he replied. “But you know that already, don’t you?” 

Stiles wished that all he needed to feel right then were happiness. Happiness that this insane attraction between them might one day become something tangible, maybe even something _lasting_. Instead, that first burst of indescribable pleasure was stifled by the knowledge that confessing to it and there being a potential threat to his life _still_ wasn’t enough to resolve the tension. 

“And yet we still can’t do anything about it,” Stiles stated dully. 

“No, but not for the reason you think.” Peter stepped up to Stiles and gently tugged his left hand from his pocket. Just as carefully, he raised it to his lips and pressed a lingering kiss to the knuckles. “I _want_ you, Stiles. In any way I can have you. But I don’t want you like this.” 

“Why? I’m pretty sure that legit fuck or die scenarios render statutory rape laws obsolete,” Stiles said. He shivered a little when Peter’s smiling lips caressed his knuckles again. Gathering his courage for yet more confessions, he added, “I don’t want to die a virgin, but … but I also don’t want to have my first time with just anyone. I’m pretty sure you know who I’d like that person to be.” 

“Mmh. First of all, fuck or die only applies when _all_ parties are in mortal peril,” Peter pointed out, sounding impossibly fond. “And second of all, while I feel absolutely flattered, I just can’t have our relationship start with that sort of power imbalance between us. I could never make up for that afterwards, and I’d never even want to try.” 

Stiles’ brain screeched to a halt. “Wait, so you think we could actually be in a relationship? Like, a _sexual_ one? Maybe even have a _romance_?” 

Peter’s face underwent an interesting kaleidoscope of expressions until it settled on mild incredulity. “Darling, in how many more words do I have to tell you that you’re quite stuck with me? That I adore you beyond reason and would lay waste to the world to give you want you need and want?” 

Stiles blushed fiercely because fucking hell, this had to be the most romantic thing anyone had, or would ever, say to him. He rallied quickly, however, and exclaimed, “That doesn’t automatically mean you want to do sexy stuff to me of your own free will! How am I supposed to _know_ that it’s not just some half-hearted ploy to secure my pack membership if you don’t make it absolutely clear? My dad’s the sheriff! Lessons on consent were taught since kindergarten!” 

“So you’d never simply presume … I see.” After a moment’s thought, Peter tugged Stiles to the bed and they both sat down, angled towards each other. “I’m appalled at how unromantic and backwards we’re having to do this, but needs must, I suppose.” He tipped up Stiles’ chin and looked him straight in the eye. “As I said, I _want_ you, darling. With all that it entails. You’re beautiful, from the tips of your hair down to your toes, and even more so for your astounding mind.” 

Stiles gasped quietly, and within him, Lou howled and whined with renewed hope and happiness. 

“I want you today, and I’ll want you in nine months when you turn eighteen,” Peter continued. “Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be here, ready to explore what is between us.” He smirked. “I should be so lucky to have you in my bed, flailing limbs and all.” 

“But that’s _nine months_ away!” Stiles moaned. “And also, fuck you.” 

Peter laughed and then said baldly, “I don’t care that I’ll have to wait. I don’t care what experiences you might have with others during that time, either, or for however long you wish even after your birthday. I just want you, and I want you on equal footing if at all possible.” 

“But …” Stiles bit his lip and squeezed Peter’s hand tightly. “But won’t it be … difficult for you, if I find someone else to, uh, sleep with? I always thought you werewolf guys were possessive and stuff.” 

“Usually we are, but oddly, no. I won’t have a problem with this.” Peter studied Stiles intently. “I had my fair share of adventures before the fire and there was no one on the horizon who managed to capture my attention the way you did from day one of our acquaintance. I can and will wait for you. If in nine months you still want to give us a try, well … then things’ll change. Once I have you, I won’t share.” 

Stiles could barely speak, his chest felt so full. “Good, because we Stilinskis don’t share, either.” He sniffed and cursed his frayed nerves. “But you’ve got another thing coming if I’m having my first kiss with anyone else but you. That’s not negotiable.” 

“Is that so?” Peter asked, intrigued. 

“Don’t try me, I can trap you with mountain ash,” Stiles threatened. 

“Hmm, I’d never,” Peter purred, eyes flickering red again. 

“Filthy lies,” Stiles rumbled back, helped along by Lou who whole-heartedly supported the imminent intimacy. 

With a boldness he couldn’t explain, Stiles scooted up to Peter and placed his hands around that warm, thick neck. The life thrumming through the veins there raised the hair on Stiles’ arms and the attraction between them burned bright and hot. His thumbs caressed the man’s stubbled jaw and then, after a minuscule tilt of Peter’s head, he bent forward as if drawn by magnetic power and carefully pressed their lips together. 

It was gloriously magical, just like Stiles had always seen in movies and read in his mom’s romance novels. A sweet sort of heat was travelling through all of his synapses and nerves and the well of writhing emotion in his chest was overflowing into the rest of his body. From his hands, the mountain ash was streaming onto Peter’s body, holding and caressing him and giving Stiles a guilty little glimpse into the perfection that was the werewolf’s body. Without conscious thought, someone’s tongue cheekily teased against someone else’s lips and then their tongues were tangling and Stiles was falling, falling, falling … 

oOo

“You should’ve told him when we left,” Derek said into the dazed silence in Stiles’ Jeep. He was driving and trying hard not to run over too many of the dead birds still littering the street. It was only early evening but the sky was a very weird mix of steely dark grey clouds and golden sunshine that reflected blazingly on the wet streets. 

“Told him what?” Stiles asked mellowly. 

“You know what,” Derek pushed and spared him a look. 

Stiles smiled crookedly. “He already knows. I do, too.” 

Derek’s eyebrows rose a little. “Yeah?” 

“It’s so strange,” Stiles replied, waking up a little from his daydream. “I was all devastated because I wouldn’t get to have my first time with … with him, okay, because yeah, I was harbouring the mother of all crushes for the dude, but then we had this really amazing adult conversation and now I’m … I dunno. Just not worried anymore.” 

“What did he tell you?” Derek asked, visibly intrigued despite himself. 

“You didn’t listen in?” Stiles returned, surprised. 

“We couldn’t, Peter had all of our bedrooms soundproofed.” 

“Ah. Cool.” Stiles felt another wave of that amazing sense of security roll over him and grinned. “He just told me that he wants me, whenever I’m ready for it. And that he doesn’t worry about people I might meet before we can legally try having a relationship because he already had that before the fire and doesn’t see a reason why I shouldn’t get to experience the same.” 

Derek let out a surprised sound. “I knew that he liked you a lot, but that’s …” he raised his shoulders in a helpless shrug, “something else.” 

“I’m sorry if that’s weird, Sourwolf,” Stiles said, worry creeping in at Derek’s circumspect language. “Please don’t be mad.” 

“I’m not mad,” Derek said, exhaling slowly. “I’m just … not surprised, exactly, because you two _have_ flirted for a while, but also yes because it seems to be serious.” 

“I know, right? All of a sudden I’m really glad that I’ve got some time,” Stiles admitted. “Not because I’ve got cold feet, not at all. He’s obviously great at everything he does, but maybe I shouldn’t tell you just how awesome the kissing was so never mind.” 

“Yes, please don’t,” Derek rumbled, but there was a smile tugging on his mouth.

“Uhm, yeah, so, to sum it up I just feel ... free, knowing that I get to go out and have fun and then come home one day and that’s it,” Stiles said, fidgeting a little. 

“And if you don’t feel the same way in a year, you can both move on,” Derek completed the thought. 

“Yeah, at least that’s what he said. That’s pretty amazing, isn’t it?” Stiles asked softly. He turned his head and stared at Derek. “I never really thought that I was too young before, you know. Losing my mom forced me to grow up pretty quickly. But now I _do_.” 

“It’s hard not to, in the face of this sort of maturity,” Derek offered. His voice became quiet. “I’m glad that Peter hasn’t taken advantage of the darach situation.” 

“He said he couldn’t because not all requirements for a fuck or die scenario were met,” Stiles informed him with a put-out huff and burst into laughter when Derek’s eyebrows threatened to touch his hairline. 

oOo

Isaac was the most pragmatic motherfucker Stiles had ever met. Right after their krav maga course the next day he asked Stiles to drop him off at home because Peter would take him to a hooker. 

“A _hooker_ ,” Stiles repeated, incredulous. 

Isaac rolled his eyes. “She won’t take it personally if I don’t wanna kiss or whatever. I just want to get this over with. I even used a Lucky Dust card for some extra guidance just so nothing will go wrong. Fucking darach, as if we didn’t already have enough bullshit on our plates.” 

Stiles could get behind the sentiment, but engaging a prostitute hadn’t even crossed his mind, despite Peter mentioning it. “Well, uh, to success, then, I guess.” 

“Fucking ha,” Isaac snarled and slammed the door to the Jeep shut. 

Still bewildered, Stiles was glad for Erica’s SOS a few minutes later to come and save her from a boring evening alone. Since her parents were working late and Boyd was spending time with his grandmother, she couldn’t watch TV by herself for fear of suffering an epilepsy attack. Not even Stiles’ healing cards could take that fear away from her completely, which was more than understandable in Stiles’ opinion. 

Isaac's idea of using a Lucky Dust card resonated with him, however, so he pulled one from his wallet and ripped it up, praying for a miracle to resolve this impossible situation.

“You’re a lifesaver,” Erica said when Stiles appeared on her doorstep half an hour later. She wore shorts, a tank top, and had put her hair up in a messy bun on the top of her head. For the first time in months, her face was free of make-up, though she didn’t need it anyway as far as Stiles was concerned. She’d acquired a golden tan during all their time spent outdoors and looked pretty vibrant without any sort of enhancement due to her occasional usage of the lightest healing cards. “Come on in, I’ve already set up the TV and made popcorn. Did you bring the strawberries?” 

“Of course I did. Does Boyd know that you have a mean crush on Bond?” Stiles teased, handing her the bag. 

Erica waggled her eyebrows. “Anything to get me in the mood. And I mean that literally. We decided that we’ll do it this weekend to head off this virgin sacrifice thing. It’s sooner than Boyd wanted, but I’m still looking forward to it.” 

Stiles smiled a little wistfully. “I hope it’ll be good.” 

“Yeah, me too. I really like him,” Erica said shyly. “And, uh, just for the record, if you need someone to lose your V-card, Boyd said that it’d be okay if I offered.” 

“He what?” Stiles asked, perplexed. “Dude, no, he’s crazy about you.” 

“Stiles, Isaac’s going to see a _hooker_ , it’s that serious,” Erica said. 

“It could be a malicious hoax!” Stiles argued, gesticulating wildly. 

Erica just snorted. “No way is this a hoax; Peter wouldn’t do that to you. And, well, Boyd knows how much I liked you before we met. He likes you, too. We’d both be okay with it if it’s to save you from a dark ritual.” 

Stiles was speechless. “I … wow. Thanks, Catwoman. I, er, maybe I’ll keep that in mind. Just in case.” 

Erica winked. “You do that. You’d be one of my five exceptions, anyway.” 

“ _What_?” Stiles cried. He flushed hotly. “Oh my god, Erica! Boyd will kill me!” 

“He will not because it probably won’t come to it. I’ve asked you here for another reason than just ogling Bond’s hot bod, you know.” 

“Oh?” Stiles raised an eyebrow. 

“Yup. A new family just moved into my street and they have a daughter our age,” Erica said. “She’s cute, and after that darach news, I thought I’d introduce you and see if you catch fire. If you do, you could take care of things easily.” She snapped her fingers and smirked. 

“Sneaky, Catwoman, very sneaky. When were you gonna try and set us up?” Stiles asked, now suspicious of the power of his Lucky Dust cards. Surely it had to be a huge accident that right after using one he'd not only gotten an actual offer but was also being hooked up with a convenient girl next door. 

Erica glanced at her watch and in just that moment the doorbell rang. She smiled winningly. “I thought now would do nicely.” 

“Wha …” Thoroughly spooked now, Stiles could only watch as Erica went to open the door and welcome the visitor in. 

“Great that you could make it, Heather,” Erica beamed. “My friend’s already here!” 

Stiles couldn’t believe his eyes when he heard the name and a second later recognized the face. “Heather?” he asked hesitantly. 

The girl, a slim blonde with curled hair, looked over and shrieked. “Stiles! _You’re_ Erica’s friend? Ohmigod, I haven’t seen you in _ages_! You probably won’t believe me but I’ve wanted to call you all summer! What happened? Your number was no longer working and the two times I tried reaching your dad at the station he wasn’t available! Plus, I somehow never quite managed to come around your house which was really strange.” 

Stiles grimaced. “Sorry about that. I lost my phone in the woods back in January and had to get a new one. Things have been crazy around here so I simply forgot to get your number again. I guess it’s time we finally exchanged e-mail addresses, huh?” 

“Absolutely!” Heather squealed again and hugged Stiles excitedly. “Man, it’s _so_ great to see you!” 

“Yeah, it really is,” Stiles mumbled into her hair. “I’m ashamed to confess that I didn’t even know you were moving. Why _did_ you move?” 

Heather grimaced, still holding on tightly. “Black mould all over the basement and it's crept up to the first floor. The house will be levelled because there’s nothing anyone can do to save it. Dad engaged the demolition company for September so our neighbours won’t be bothered with the noise and dirt during the summer. It's been sealed off, though.” 

“Crap, I’m sorry,” Stiles said sincerely. “You bet that I’ll check our house for mould tonight, because yikes.” 

“Totally.” She let go of him and dragged him by the hand towards the couch. Erica followed with an intrigued smile on her face. “You know, I often wanted to visit but my mom always told me to give you space after what happened in April.” Heather shook her head. “Scott McCall, helping a criminal kidnap your dad. We all couldn’t believe it.” 

“You shouldn’t even know that much,” Stiles sighed. “Small cities are a nightmare sometimes.” 

“Your dad’s the sheriff, of course some details have made the rounds,” Heather replied apologetically. “I haven’t gossiped much, I promise, but I needed to know that you and your dad were fine.” 

“Can I ask how you know each other?” Erica interjected curiously as she made herself comfortable at one end of the sofa, blatantly leaving the rest of the space to Stiles and Heather. 

“Oh, our moms were best friends,” Heather said, smiling brightly. “And we were best friends in kindergarten and elementary school but then we went on to different high schools. Mine has a focus on music and drama; I’m working on becoming an actress.” 

“Yeah, that. After my mom’s death we just … drifted apart a little,” Stiles said contritely. “I’m really sorry, Heather. I should’ve kept in contact more.” 

“That’s life,” she replied philosophically and shrugged. “We’re seeing each other now … and wow, I _like_ what I’m seeing. You look amazing.” 

Stiles pointed at himself incredulously. “What, me?” 

Heather grinned. “You grew up real nice, Stiles. I like your new hair cut ... and your _arms_. Meow.” 

Erica grinned as well. “She’s not wrong, Batman.” 

“Well, you’re pretty hot yourself, Heat,” Stiles replied, abashed. “So what’s new with you? Are you still with that guy? What was his name? Corben? Corwin?” 

“Colby,” she corrected. “And no.” 

“Why? I thought it was Big Love?” Stiles wondered. 

“Yeah, me too,” Heather said, “but then I mentioned wanting to finally have sex and he bailed hard and fast.” 

Erica snorted her water out of her nose, spluttering curses as she wiped at her wet chest. “He what? Why? Is he gay or what?” 

“Nah, just a douchebag,” Heather sighed. “One with _two_ side chicks so I guess he just didn’t want any more action. The asshole. Can you imagine that he wanted me to be the girlfriend he brings home to meet the parents because I look _so sweet and wholesome_?” 

“Makes me wonder what his side chicks looked like,” Stiles said, astounded. “Not that I’m kink-shaming or anything.” 

Erica snorted water again, much to her disgust. In exasperation, she set her glass of water down and flung a handful of popcorn at Stiles. “You jerk!” 

“Yeah, well, now I’m single again and not in the mood for something serious because fuck this shit.” Heather grabbed her own handful of popcorn out of the huge bowl and stuffed it into her mouth. “But I’m down for perving on Daniel Craig. You ready to get started?” 

“Yeah, I’ll just change into something dry,” Erica said, giving Stiles the evil eye. “I’ll be back in a sec. Or, you know, if you wanna make out I can stay away for fifteen minutes.” 

Heather flushed. “Erica.” After a not very subtle once-over of Stiles’ body, she added in an endearing mix of bold and bashful, “Maybe later, though.” 

Stiles bit his lip, not sure if he had somehow managed to land in the Twilight Zone, or if this was actually happening. 

It turned out that it was actually happening. Not at all shy about her interest in him, Heather later that night asked Stiles to accompany her home since she only lived half a dozen houses down from Erica now. 

“It was really good seeing you again,” she told him, her hand warm around his fingers as they walked. “Sorry if I was coming on a bit strongly. I guess it’s just all that great weather and being a single teenager with hormones and stuff.” 

“Nah, it’s alright,” Stiles said and managed not to stutter. “It was just a surprise. Girls never came on to me before. Not seriously, at least. Guys either, come to think of it.” 

Heather smiled. “Well, it’s their loss. Maybe we could go out sometime soon? I did miss you, and my parents, too. You should come and say hello soon.” 

“I will,” Stiles promised. “My dad as well, if you like. He’s got a ton of work right now, but I’m sure he’d like that.” 

“Then we have a deal. I’ve got your new number, I’ll text or call.” Heather daintily stepped closer to Stiles and stood on her tiptoes. “I’ll see you soon, handsome.” 

And with that, she kissed him right on the lips, smiled, and wandered into her house, leaving a completely flummoxed Stiles behind. 

**End of chapter 71**


	72. Chapter 72

**Chapter 72**

Stiles couldn’t help himself; that night he called Peter and told him about the Lucky Dust card and his _accidental_ run-in with Heather. 

“I just can’t shake the feeling that it’s all too convenient,” Stiles finished after a lengthy rant and patted the mountain ash roiling on his stomach where it was trying to soothe the insistent twinge that had started after Heather had kissed him. “I mean, that’s not how I designed those cards, you know? They’re not supposed to have that sort of power.” 

“Mmh, I’d say it depends on how desperate you were,” Peter said quietly. “Being a potential target for a power-hungry maniac would qualify for a bigger _sprinkle_ , I’m sure.” 

“I’m not sure it would be enough to produce a sex-hungry teenage girl just when I need her,” Stiles groaned. “I tell you, it’s super fishy.” 

Peter was silent for a long moment before he asked, “Have you come upon the law of attraction yet in your studies?” 

“Sure, there’s a whole section about it on the website you gave me access to,” Stiles replied. “But I didn’t have time to read it all. Sounds more esoteric than anything else, if you ask me.” 

“You should definitely go back and read the texts carefully, then,” Peter said. “The law of attraction is one of the fundamental truths of magic. Whether you’re aware of it or not, you’ve already used it to your advantage.” 

“When?” Stiles asked, intrigued and concerned. 

“Whenever you’re infusing something with your will, you’re attracting and then binding magical power to your desired goal, isn’t that so?” 

Stiles stilled and mulled this over. “Oh wow, I guess you’re right.” 

“Mundanes generally attribute this principle to the endlessly available resources of the universe. They’re imagining placing an order for what they need and leaving it to the universe to shift resources as it sees fit to achieve the desired outcome at the desired time,” Peter murmured. “Sounds almost exactly like what you’re doing, especially with those Good Luck cards of yours, isn’t that so?” 

“Yeah, I remember explaining to the others that I simply can’t yank away specific resources with magic, especially money, because they might be needed for already planned purposes.” Stiles exhaled. “But what does that have to do with the situation with Heather?” 

“Well, you might not have had nefarious reasons when you used that Lucky Dust card, but who says that someone else hasn’t?” Peter asked. “The law of attraction applies to _all_ magic users, even the evil ones.” 

Stiles’ mouth dropped open. “Are you saying that the darach placed a fucking _attraction spell_ on virgins to attract other virgins? Like, get two for the price of one or something?” 

“I’d go even further and posit that the darach placed a fucking attraction spell on _desperate_ virgins because they’re already sending out a message to the universe, or, in your case, to magic. Which is probably the same thing for a magic user.” 

In Stiles’ head, his thoughts were whirling so fast that he felt almost sick with it. “Peter … would me being magic - and _using_ magic - amplify that possible attraction spell so much that I’d receive several offers all at once when before no one really cared?” 

“It’s entirely possible,” Peter said bluntly. “In my personal opinion, it’s likely. Even worse, the darach will be able to locate the source of that power if they're already primed to pick up the specific energy a virgin puts out. My contact was very clear about that when I explained the situation.” 

“I was afraid of that.” Stiles closed his eyes and counted to five. “What do I do? I don’t want to take advantage of Heather like that.” 

“That’s very noble but completely unnecessary,” Peter returned. “While your query for a partner, such as it was, may have been more potent than usual, it was still just that, a query. Not even a powerful darach can mind-whammy a whole city into wanting to get it on. They’d still have to find the virgins, which would be difficult if suddenly every person of the optimal age would become horny all of a sudden and fuck indiscriminately like bunnies.” 

“Peter,” Stiles breathed, shocked and on the verge of a hysterical giggle at the crude language. 

“I’m just saying how it is. Such a spell would completely defeat the purpose and I don’t believe that the darach is stupid,” Peter continued, unperturbed. “If that girl weren’t ready for sex, and sex with you specifically, she wouldn’t have offered.” 

Stiles slumped against his pillow with relief. “That’s at least something.” 

“But the darach will be on your tail, now, after you’ve used your Lucky Dust card,” Peter warned. “You either need to move very fast or put up heavy wards around yourself until you’re ready.” 

“Fuck. I should do the same for Heather anyway just so the darach won’t nab her while I’m not looking.” Stiles groaned and knuckled his eyes. “Can I just say how weird all of this is?” 

“Welcome to the dark underbelly of magic,” Peter said dryly. “For what it’s worth, I’m _sorry_. Deaton’s presence notwithstanding, I’d hoped that you’d be spared from such ugliness for a long while yet. Even worse, my contact informed me that the energy of a virgin is the strongest right before the loss of virginity. You should ward your space wherever you might happen to be once you and your friend have come to an understanding.” 

“Okay.” Stiles didn’t want to be that needy guy but he just couldn’t help it. In a near-whisper, he said, “I wish it were easier. I wish we two could just be together and sod the rest. It’s so unfair that almost everyone else my age has already done it and I’d have to wait for almost _a year_ if I wanted it to mean something.” 

“You flatter me, sweetheart. Too much, if I’m being honest. If it’s any consolation, my first time was underneath the bleachers while a lacrosse game was going on,” Peter replied, a smirk evident in his voice. “My parents, of course, were furious when they caught me after the game. Their noses told them everything they needed to know. At least we thought to use a condom.” 

Against his will, Stiles had to laugh. “Oh, wow, talk about a horny dog.” He sighed. “It does help. A little. I still wanted it to mean something, though.” 

“And it will,” Peter said, turning serious again. “You like her, she’s been your friend for ages, even if you haven’t seen each other in a while. It won’t just save your lives, you can also make sure that she’ll be treated like a queen.” 

“How can I do that if I don’t know what I’m doing?” Stiles demanded, getting anxious again just thinking about it. 

“Stiles,” Peter rumbled, “all a girl really wants for her first time are respect and care. She won’t expect fireworks but even if she does, just tell her that you’re new to it as well and it’ll be fine.” 

“Will it really?” Stiles asked in a small voice. “I feel completely overwhelmed. Nothing about this is natural.” 

“There’s nothing natural about Twizzlers either and yet you eat them with appalling regularity,” Peter deadpanned. “Stop worrying and start thinking like a teenager. You’ve certainly earned the privilege.” His voice lowered and that sexy purr made an appearance. “However, I might be persuaded to kiss it better if the experience disappoints.” 

_That_ made Stiles perk up. A little breathlessly, he asked, “Yeah?” 

“Only this once,” Peter murmured wickedly, “so make it count.” 

Stiles immediately resolved to lie is freaking _socks_ off and milk that offer for everything it was worth. 

oOo

They had so much to do but getting together with Heather had become the unfortunate priority. Via text message, Stiles learned on the next day that Erica was already nesting and preparing for a weekend of sexy goodness and that Isaac had returned from his visit to the brothel in a somewhat ambivalent mood. So while he was flirting up Heather to the best of his limited ability, Stiles also asked his poor friend whether he was alright. 

_I could do with some bro time_ , Isaac admitted after only minimal prodding. _You free tonight?_

Stiles, having just then scored a date with Heather the next day, replied, _Yeah, we could hang out and watch Underworld_. _Derek yay or nay?_

_He’s welcome. I’ll be there around seven._

Since Derek was shadowing Stiles anyway, they went grocery shopping and cleaned up what little Erica's parents hadn’t managed to sneak-scrub the weekend before. For once, Stiles’ room was as presentable as it could be, and he’d hidden condom strips anywhere lusty teenagers might perceivably have need of them. He’d also packed a little gift box with magical goodies to protect Heather from ill-meaning creepy-crawlies and packed another bag for his Jeep because it made him feel better. 

At long last they took a break in the living room, cooling off with large protein shakes. From outside, an intense orange evening sun was streaming its light into the living room. Paired with the still steely grey clouds in the sky, the effect was quite spectacular, if a little apocalyptic. 

“Do you think I did enough to prepare?” Stiles asked after a few minutes of contemplative silence. “Should I take more mountain ash?” 

“You have a whole sack of it in the bed of the Jeep,” Derek replied. “That _should_ be enough, but I can put in another one.” 

“I feel paranoid,” Stiles muttered. “And shitty for not telling my dad about this, but how would I even do that? He’d blow a gasket.” 

“He probably would,” Derek agreed. “That's why Peter will do it. Virgins aren’t the only prey; apparently, a darach can use almost any type of person for a sacrifice.” 

“Yeah, I know.” Stiles pressed his lips together. “Teachers and guardians, even witnesses to certain events. It’s a nightmare for my dad, and not just because he’s the sheriff. He fits the bill several times over, too. Sometimes I just want to scream.” 

Derek rumbled quietly in agreement and leaned heavily against Stiles’ shoulder. 

“I wish we were ready to ward the city, but we still need some more stones, and of course an opportunity to plant them unseen,” Stiles went on. “We’re on the backfoot already and who knows which group the fucking darach is gonna target first. Virgins might be easiest, but they could count on that assumption. It’s driving me nuts.” 

“You need to take care of yourself first,” Derek told him. “How else are you going to be able to help everyone else? Your own life should be your priority, that’s just nature. In terms of pack, you’re one of the heavy hitters. You need to be as protected as can be so everyone else stands a chance of survival.” 

“I am, now, aren’t I?” Stiles asked in wonder. “It’s still so new to me.” 

“Lou is an alpha wolf spark, he’ll be able to guide you a lot in a confrontation,” Derek said. “If it gets physical, let him handle it. We’ll work on our training the minute we find the time. When it comes to magic … well, against a darach it’d probably be best to run.” 

“Super,” Stiles groaned. “Why is the town like this? It didn’t use to be such a hellhole.” 

Derek just shrugged. 

In the two hours until Peter would bring Isaac, Stiles made it a point to read what he could find about the law of attraction on the secret witch webpage. Derek preferred going out to the yard and doing some exercises - shirtless, of course, which had the wards ping more than once when the neighbouring ladies came up to the fence to have a look. 

Isaac, who’d long gotten his own key to the house, came into Stiles’ room, pointing towards the window. “You know that Derek’s turning your backyard into a circus?” 

“He wanted to do some callisthenics,” Stiles replied absently, not even bothering to look up from his computer screen. “I think he secretly hopes to convince Mrs Miller to bring out some pie. She’s a sucker for a hale male physique.” 

“Hale male physique … I see what you did there,” Isaac said dryly. He huffily sat on the bed. “Can we blow some virtual shit up?” 

Stiles finished his paragraph and minimized the window so he wouldn’t get distracted. “We can do whatever you like. Where’s Peter? Did he run already?” 

“Yes, actually. He wants to inform your dad of the general situation while we’re still ahead,” Isaac replied. “He’ll leave out the virgin thing, though.” 

“And thanks for that,” Stiles said gustily. “CoD it is. Tonight is taco night, too. We even bought your favourite ice cream.” 

Isaac huffed again. “It’s not _that_ bad.” 

“Your favourite ice cream,” Stiles repeated, “which Peter only lets you have once in a blue moon. Who cares if you _need_ it. Fact is you can have it, penalty-free.” 

“True.” Isaac brightened a little. “How’s it going with Heather?” 

“We’ve got a date tomorrow.” Stiles flushed a little. “She wants to go to the overlook and have a picnic.” 

Isaac grinned. “Good for you. She seems like the bold sort; I’m sure she’ll put out.” 

“Don’t be so crude, I’m already feeling guilty as it is,” Stiles chided, putting the computer into standby mode. “Anyway, I thought we’d go outside and see whether Derek has managed to finagle some pie yet. I could use the emotional crutch.” 

“Heck yes. Mrs Miller’s chocolate pecan pie is the best,” Isaac agreed. 

To Isaac’s slight disappointment and Stiles’ elation, Mrs Miller did bring a pie, although it was a huge strawberry tarte and not Isaac's beloved chocolate pecan pie, _and_ her whipped cream dispenser to spoil her newly adopted grandkids. If she ogled one of said adopted grandkids more than might have been socially acceptable, Derek was gracious enough not to call her on it. The old lady stayed for a bite of cake but left the young men to their own devices soon enough because she didn’t want to miss her favourite TV show. 

“Good to know that Derek isn’t slated to become husband number three,” Stiles smirked when they had the kitchen to themselves. “With how gaga he’s over her baked goods, she actually stands a chance.” 

“I’d take that bet,” Isaac said with a grin. 

“Very funny,” Derek rumbled, but he looked amused and didn’t deny it. 

“Does anyone want more coffee?” Stiles asked. “Mrs Miller drank half the pot by herself.” 

Derek raised a hand and Isaac also shrugged and accepted the offer. They took their time demolishing the remaining cake, leaving only one piece for Stiles’ father as a courtesy. Isaac and Derek both were gratifyingly militant about the sheriff’s health after the events in the woods and that vigilance had spilled over to their mundane life, such as it was. 

A bit later, Stiles and Isaac were waging war on some faceless gamers while Derek read a book on horticulture. Stiles would’ve poked fun at him if the guy didn’t look so endearingly earnest and engrossed in his reading. 

“Aren’t you gonna ask me how it was?” Isaac asked almost an hour of violent shooting later. He put the controller down in the universal sign that he had enough for now. “I thought you’d break sooner.” 

“I’m curious, of course,” Stiles admitted, “but dude, it’s super private. You’ll tell me when you’re ready. You did the deed, which is the most important thing right now, so yay.” 

Isaac huffed softly. “You’re unpredictable sometimes.” 

“I do try not to be an obnoxious asshole,” Stiles pointed out. “But since you’ve brought it up I guess it’s okay to ask. So, how was it? Was she nice?” 

“Yeah … yeah, she was,” Isaac said softly. “Also, it wasn’t what I expected. I had this vision of a dark, seedy backroom or something, but it was more like a sorority house. The girls came out to meet me, we talked for a little while to see who I might click with, and when there was one I liked more than the others, she took me to her room.” He shrugged. “It was okay, mostly.” 

“Sounds like the most casual hookup in existence,” Stiles stated. "There was no drama? No darach-induced strangeness?" 

“No, thank god. It was nerve-wracking enough already,” Isaac muttered, picking at his cuticles with sharp claws. “Once we were alone, I almost couldn’t do it. I suddenly felt so shitty for using her like that.” 

“Yeah, I get that,” Stiles agreed quietly. He huffed. "You'd better never say another word about Heather, dude." 

Isaac let his hands fall into his lap. “It was dickish, I know. Especially since Carly, that was my girl's name, was pretty great about it all. She told me that men get cold feet all the time. Some of them even leave without … you know. Of course, that wasn’t an option for me. She talked me through it and did most of the work, honestly.” He grimaced. “It probably sucked for her. She was hot but I just couldn’t … grope her and stuff.” 

Stiles snorted in horrified amusement. “Now I feel sorry for her but Peter probably tipped her very well. And dude, at least you’re built. I don’t wanna know how many unfit guys she entertains.” 

“I actually asked her,” Isaac confessed. “She said that she doesn’t care all that much about that. She just wants to be safe, have an okay time, and earn enough money for uni. The place she works for offers that.” 

“Wow, that’s pretty pragmatic of her,” Stiles said, considering this. “But also cool. Will you see her again?” 

Isaac shook his head. “Nah. I liked it well enough, but I wanna wait until I try again. I wanna feel up to it, you know?” 

“Literally,” Derek quipped from his place on the sofa, startling the two teens. 

Stiles stared at Derek, who merely raised an eyebrow at them. “You … wow, that was callous, Sourwolf. And hilarious.” 

“And so true,” Isaac added. He chuckled and then began to laugh. “Fuck you, Derek.” 

“Wrong equipment,” Derek retorted in a bored voice and returned to his book. 

Stiles took his eyes from Derek to Isaac, bit his trembling lip, and then exploded into delighted laughter. 

**End of chapter 72**


	73. Chapter 73

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning for those who don't like the idea of Stiles hooking up with Heather. You might want to skip this chapter, or at least the first part. 
> 
> That being said, don't worry. <3

**Chapter 73**

To say that Stiles was nervous about the date would be an understatement. He and Heather had decided to meet in the late morning, which was the best time for privacy on the overlook during the summer, and now it was time to pick her up. 

In the bed of the Jeep, Stiles had stashed not one but two sacks of mountain ash, and there were condoms hidden everywhere, not just in the picnic basket Derek had helped him prepare. If something, or rather _someone_ , was bent on disrupting their date, Stiles wanted to make it as hard for them as possible. His parents hadn’t called him _Mischief_ as a child for nothing, after all. 

Heather was already out on the walkway, looking lovely and excited. She carried her handbag and a picnic cooler full of drinks. 

“I smuggled in a bottle of beer for each of us, in case we need some encouragement,” she said and winked as she placed the bag in the legroom of the passenger seat and climbed in afterwards with an easy grace that inevitably drew Stiles’ eyes to her curves. She noticed, of course, and grinned. “It’ll be a good date, I can tell.” 

Flushing, Stiles cleared his throat and started the motor. “Shall we, then?” 

She laughed and rubbed his shoulder with a warm, sure hand. “Yeah, let’s go.” 

As Stiles drove them out of Beacon Hills and into the preserve, his nervousness slowly dissipated. He might not have seen Heather in a couple of years, and hadn’t talked to or texted her at all in about seven months, but right then he remembered why he’d been friends with her in the first place. She wasn’t just a pretty girl; she was witty, funny, easy-going, and had a zest for life that was very attractive to Stiles. And unlike Scott, she wasn’t interested in keeping all of his attention on herself. In fact, Heather asked a lot of questions about Stiles’ new friends and appeared genuinely happy for him. 

The drive was so packed with meaningful conversation that the thirty minutes almost seemed like a couple of months of regular visits had passed. Even the giving of the charmed bracelet went over easily; Heather was happy to receive a token of Stiles’ friendship and eagerly put it on her left wrist. 

When Stiles carefully directed his Jeep onto the thankfully abandoned overlook, he was determined not to let Heather vanish from his life again. She deserved better from him, and frankly, he just wanted and needed someone of her positive outlook in his life. Whether she learned about the supernatural or not was immaterial at this point. 

Once they’d come to a stop, Heather exhaled a little shakily and clenched her fingers around her bag. “Okay.” 

“What’s wrong?” Stiles asked, worried about her suddenly drawn expression. 

She smiled weakly. “I probably should’ve told you that I had that … conversation with Colby here. It was dusk, the light was super romantic, I thought he’d finally want to sleep with me … but he didn’t.” She shrugged slightly. “I was afraid that it had spoiled the place for me.” 

“And has it?” Stiles asked, uncertain what might be the right thing to do here. “Do you wanna go elsewhere? Or home?” 

“What?” Heather sat up and scowled. “Are you crazy? Of course not. I’m not letting that douchebag win.” She softened. “Actually, I’m glad I’m back here with you. We had that pact, remember? When one of us is still a virgin after we turned sixteen, and we were free, we would do it together.” 

“We were thirteen,” Stiles said, inexplicably embarrassed. 

“I never forgot,” Heather replied quietly, turning towards Stiles and taking him in with appreciative eyes. “I would’ve liked it with Colby, probably, but this might be better. You’re my _friend_ , you’d never treat me like he did.” 

“I don’t know how any guy could,” Stiles said honestly. “He’s a jerk if he can just throw your relationship away like that.” 

Heather slid a little closer. “Being here with you is all I need to get over it, Stiles. I wanted an adventure this summer and I’m really glad that I’ll be able to have it with you. If you want to, that is.” 

Unable to hide his minute flinch, Stiles raked a hand through his hair. “I do want to. Sort of. But it’s complicated.” 

“Oh?” Heather placed a hand on Stiles’ shoulder and pressed up against him. “How complicated?” 

“Uh, quite … quite a bit,” Stiles stammered. “M-mostly I’m a … a sentimental sap.” 

“Aw.” Heather grasped Stiles and deftly climbed onto his lap. “I feel like a bad girl for wanting to kiss it better.” 

Stiles’ throat immediately got dry and his eyes bugged out as she settled right over his definitely interested dick. This, right there, was the most action he’d ever had with another person and _yeah_. It was rather fantastic. 

“Can I kiss you?” Heather whispered and leaned so close that her soft breath tickled Stiles’ lips. “Or would that be _too_ complicated?” 

Stiles licked his dry lips, his eyes roving over Heather’s slightly flushed face. “Uh, can I be honest?” 

She smiled. “Of course you can.” 

“I, uh, I’m sort of in love … with someone. Who is a lot older. And also male.” 

Heather’s eyes got wide. “For real?” 

Stiles winced. “Yeah. It just happened.” 

“And you’re here with me?” she asked, puzzled. “ _Why?_ ” 

“The age of consent in this state is a thing,” Stiles sighed. “I can’t get him in trouble, Heat. Plus, he sort of wants me to have some experience before he goes all caveman on me and demands exclusivity and stuff.” 

“If he demands it … would he give it, too?” Heather asked. 

Stiles blushed. “We’re pretty sure that it’s a forever sort of thing, so, yeah. He would. And I want it. I mean, I’m probably too young, but I’m pretty crazy about the dude and I can’t see that changing.” 

Heather’s eyes took on a wet sheen and she swallowed. “Oh my god. That’s so …” 

“I know,” Stiles mumbled miserably, preparing to offer the apology to end all apologies. 

“ _Hot_ ,” Heather purred throatily. “Is he hot?” 

“Uh, what?” Stiles stared at her, completely thrown. 

“Oooh, so he _is_ hot,” Heather concluded, a sly grin appearing on her face. She pressed her front against Stiles and rubbed lewdly against him. “I’m not sorry for imagining _all_ the things you two could get up to.” 

“What? Er, so you aren’t … you know, angry?” Stiles asked. “Or put off? Or even disgusted? By my gayness?” 

Heather _laughed_ at that. “You’re only partially gay, Stiles.” Grinning, she ground against his erection and they both gasped. “And no, that’s actually the hottest thing I’ve heard in a long time. Please tell me you’ve at least kissed him because I’m not sure I can do this if it’s gonna take everything away from him.” 

“Yeah, we did. It was … I don’t have words.” Taking courage, Stiles finally placed his hands on Heather’s hips and pulled her against him for another delicious rub. “I didn’t want to have my first time without giving him at least that much, either.” 

“If it’s a secret, it’s safe with me,” Heather promised, cupping his face with her hands. “And I’m glad that we get to do this together, even if we both don’t quite get what we want. It actually makes me feel better about it. I was half afraid I’d run roughshod over you to have my adventure.” 

“You did, kinda,” Stiles pointed out, but he felt relaxed enough now to joke about it. “It was like being stalked by a sexy lioness.” 

Heather laughed out loud and then planted a long, firm kiss on Stiles’ mouth and that was that. 

They’d progressed to making out quite vigorously when the sky suddenly darkened noticeably and a gust of wind blew a small tree branch against the side of the Jeep. 

“Wow, seems like that storm front still hasn’t cleared up,” Heather remarked, breathing heavily. She’d lost her shirt already and had invited Stiles to become intimately acquaintanced with her breasts. “I hope that branch didn’t scratch up your car.” 

A frisson of fear ran down Stiles’ back, killing his excitement a little. “I don’t care,” he said, while thinking at the mountain ash in the Jeep, _Men, it’s time. I need you to build a parameter around the car. Take out any threats, show no mercy!_ “I’m not going out to look when I have you right here.” 

Heather giggled. “Good answer, lover.” She unhooked her bra and dropped it on the passenger seat. “Ready for the next base?” 

“So ready,” Stiles breathed, awed. 

Getting to explore a girl that way was nothing short of amazing and Stiles was almost ready to forgive Scott for getting so ridiculously lost in Allison. He couldn’t imagine how much more intense it would be if actual romantic feelings were involved if he was already that gone over sharing this with a friend. His dick certainly had never been so hard and achy in his _life_. 

“Let’s get you wrapped up,” Heather breathed, shuddering a little at a particularly clever suck on her nipple. She rummaged for her bag but it slipped off the seat and dropped so far down that she’d have to get off Stiles’ lap to retrieve it. 

“Leave it,” Stiles said huskily, mentally showing the darach the middle finger. In response, the skies opened up and fat raindrops came pelting down, the rush of water drumming against the roof and the windshield of the Jeep. “I’ve got rubbers in my back pocket. Just don’t drop them.” 

Groping him impishly as she went, Heather found the strip of condoms. “Can I?” 

“Yeah, please.” 

With bated breath, they both looked on as Heather freed Stiles’ straining dick from his trousers and underwear and rolled the condom on, only fumbling it once. It was awkward in such tight quarters, to say the least, but somehow Stiles felt like they’d just passed a rite of passage. Didn’t every teenager need to make out in a horribly uncomfortable car at least once? He was supremely proud of himself for not having come already. 

“I’m … I’m ready if you are,” Heather said. She looked absolutely gorgeous, all flushed and glowy with a slight sheen of sweat on her face and chest. “I, uh, wore my oldest pair of panties. You can rip them if you want.” 

Stiles’ brain short-circuited for a moment. 

“ _Please_ rip them,” Heather moaned and kissed him again with abandon. 

Outside, the sky darkened even further and more debris flew towards the Jeep as the wind picked up speed, some gusts strong enough to slightly move the chassis. Unseen by Heather, the mountain ash whirled up and formed a small tornado around them, intercepting the shots and swatting them away like pesky flies. 

Determined not to let himself get distracted, now that they were so close, Stiles did rip the flimsy scrap of cotton. Heather went sweet and pliant with arousal and then she was _right there_ , their hot skin touching, rubbing, and finally breaching and accepting while their excited breaths were weaving together like a carnal symphony. If there was a furious scream somewhere in the howls of the wind, Stiles discarded it as unimportant background noise, and when another gust of wind rocked the car particularly hard, all it did was kickstart the act of frantic coupling. 

From that point forward, Stiles lost any ability to pay attention to his surroundings. He was _inside_ his friend, and around her too, was allowed to have this gift with someone he liked and trusted and Peter had been right, so right. It _was_ special, it _was_ fantastic, even if the darach had taken the choice from him. 

In a blind rush, Stiles gave in and gave it his all, and when he’d come down enough to think straight again, he set out to get Heather off as well. 

They spent almost three hours on the overlook and burned through all three condoms on Stiles’ strip and another one from Heather’s bag before deciding to call it quits due to exhaustion and cramping muscles. 

Afterwards, Heather invited Stiles to her home where she proceeded to show him on a proper bed how a girl liked to be pleased. Stiles was proud to get them almost even on the orgasm front, Heather being only one behind him when he was finished with his lesson. 

“I gotta say that I didn’t expect _this_ ,” Heather admitted when they lay sprawled on her bed, breathless and utterly spent. “Although I should’ve known, considering your mouth and fingers.” 

Too tired to blush, Stiles merely chuckled. “Glad to be of service.” He lazily turned his head and smiled at her. “Thanks, I’ll never forget this day.” 

Heather smiled back. “Me neither.” She rolled onto her belly, her hair a tangled mess and her skin still flushed prettily. “Would your man object a lot if we did it again sometime?” 

Stiles’ breath caught. “I don’t know, Heat. No promises.” 

“Mmh, good enough. Because this has potential.” Her fingers teased one of Stiles’ nipples. 

“You broke my dick, I can’t possibly get it up again,” Stiles protested feebly. 

“Wouldn’t you like to find out?” Heather purred. 

Stiles did want to find out, which meant that he got home too late to prevent his dad from ordering the cheesiest pizza their favourite restaurant had on offer. 

oOo

That night, Derek slept in Stiles’ bed. Not because he was worried for Stiles’ mental health - apparently the satisfaction had just oozed out of Stiles, even after a thorough shower - but because he feared retaliation from the darach and wanted to be on hand. 

To minimize Derek’s anxiety over the matter, Stiles ordered his mountain ash troops to keep watch. Lou was certainly eager to direct the ash as he saw fit, even if he had to tap into Stiles’ magic to do it. It was a weird feeling, a part of him being awake even as the physical body was about to drop, but also so wondrous that Stiles had a hard time falling asleep because it was just so exciting and amazing. Despite everything they already could do together, Stiles hadn’t even _tried_ to think in that direction. 

They both slept in on Monday morning but went to the workshop after a quick bite to eat to pick up the slack the darach situation had caused. 

Erica and Boyd were already there, both of them looking just as sleepy and satisfied as Stiles, although the elation Stiles was still feeling seemed to be missing. Everyone had tall glasses of latte macchiato standing by and Lydia had brought a huge box of juicy glutenfree sandwiches from the organic place downtown. 

“Everything went over well,” Lydia said crisply after a quick but thorough assessment of Stiles. Pressing the button on the coffeemaker to make Stiles and Derek a latte as well, she tacked on, “ _Good_.” 

Her pinched face raised the hair on Stiles’ arms. “But something still went wrong.” 

“There was a murder,” Erica said sadly. “One of the lifeguards working at the public swimming pool was murdered last night.” 

“And Lydia found him,” Jackson added, eyes never leaving his girlfriend. 

Danny nodded. “We were all together last night. Suddenly she got all dazed and wandered off, right to the pool. We couldn’t get her out of it.” 

“He sat in his lookout chair,” Lydia said in a scratchy voice. “When I woke from that … that trance, I screamed my head off.” 

“Who is it?” Stiles demanded. “I know them all, they have regular rescue training at the station.” 

“Kyle Bolton,” Danny murmured. 

Curses burst from Stiles’ mouth before he could think to censor himself. “The darach got him because they couldn’t find a way to separate me and Heather!” 

“We put the word out, I swear, and some even got lucky,” Danny said in a rush, “but Kyle was a firm believer in waiting for marriage. He made a purity pledge and even wore the ring.” 

‘“Fuck this shit,” Stiles raged. In response to his fury, his eyes grew hot and mountain ash rushed like a suit of armour over his body. “I’ll fuck that fucking darach up so much that they’ll regret ever being born!” 

“Uh, Stiles,” Danny cautioned. “I’m all for getting justice for Kyle, but you’re scaring me a little.” 

“A little?” Jackson asked incredulously. “He looks like freaking Venom!” 

As if to humour him, Lou produced a huge tongue and flicked it out sharply. 

“Okay, enough,” Derek said and placed a hand on Stiles’ back. “This is terrible, but you going off the rails won’t help anyone. What’s the status?” 

Isaac put his latest painted rock onto the rack to dry and replied, “Peter has informed the sheriff about the darach and the sacrificial thing. Since Stiles sneak-guilted almost all of the deputies into wearing bracelets, they have some protection, but there are other groups of potential targets Stiles and his dad don’t have such a good connection to. The only healer types already protected are McCall’s mom and a few nurses at the hospital.” 

Erica frowned. “The hospital is often understaffed, we can’t afford to lose any of them to a power-hungry maniac.” 

“Any ideas on how to push protections on them?” Derek asked, staring expectantly at the group. 

Danny raised his hand. “We, uh, could sneak in and place those origami animals?” 

“Good, do it,” Derek said. “Anything else?” 

“Boyd and I could sell bracelets for a good cause. If they only cost a dollar, people might take them,” Erica offered. “We only need a legit cause or they won’t bite.” 

“Collect for the children’s station’s wish fund,” Stiles rumbled. It was hard work convincing Lou that he was safe; the wolf spark refused to give up his spread over Stiles’ skin. “Get it approved by the admin office and tell them that my dad is behind it. I’ll text him so he’ll know to expect a call from them.” 

“We’ll need to take the whole box of bracelets,” Boyd warned. 

Stiles waved that away. “I’ll make more, just take what you need.” 

“But don’t forget to make note of what you take so I can write it off,” Lydia warned. “I’m not going to clean up that mess all by myself.” 

“I should go with them, they know my face at the hospital,” Stiles said after a bit of thought. 

“In that case, I’ll stay here,” Boyd said. “People will respond better to Erica and you. I’ll prepare more rocks for the wards and hold down the fort.” 

“Ditto,” Isaac agreed. 

“How can we help?” Danny asked. 

“You look nice, you’ll come with us to the hospital,” Stiles decided. “You’ll sell bracelets with Erica and I'll wander around the personnel rooms to hide the origami animals.” 

“Maybe you should try selling those, too,” Lydia said. “That way they won’t get thrown out if they’re discovered.” 

“Good point,” Stiles admitted. “And it’ll mean more money for the kids, too. Although we should keep hiding them in mind in case there are no takers.” 

They discussed strategies for another half hour and then everyone prepared for yet another day of scrambling to keep up with the threats in Beacon Hills. 

**End of chapter 73**


End file.
